What would you do should you discovered your self instantly standing in entrance of Tom Petty, Roy Orbison and George Harrison? As music followers, we take into consideration enjoyable time journey situations like this the entire time.

Because who would not wish to discover themselves hanging out with a lot of the Traveling Wilburys? It’s a fairly difficult journey, because it seems. But typically, it occurs on account of an trustworthy search, combined in with a little bit of dumb luck, as we discovered whereas studying a brand new guide, Langley Powell and the Society for the Defense of the Mundane.

The novel, written by tradition author and editor Jeff Giles (who has written for plenty of retailers, together with UCR), follows Powell as he finds himself surprisingly rescued from an unlucky loss of life. Brought proper again to Earth, Langley is confronted with a brand new mission: to avoid wasting the universe. Is he geared up for this unexpected problem? Good query. But let’s not get forward of ourselves. Let’s get again to hanging out with Petty, Orbison and Harrison. Our unique excerpt from the guide will take us there now.

Frank and Langley crept round behind the home, the place a swimming pool glinted silently within the solar. In entrance of them and previous the pool, a brief distance from the primary construction, stood a cottage-sized constructing that would have been a pool home or a indifferent office — Langley wasn’t certain which. Off to their proper, a large sliding glass door offered entry into the mansion.

“Eenie meenie minie moe,” mentioned Frank. “We may not have time to look inside both of these buildings. Which one do we trespass our way into first?”

“Hmm,” mentioned Langley. “It’ll take less time to search the smaller one, but I think we stand a better chance of finding something that will lead us to Pemberton if we start with the house.”

“Sounds good to me,” mentioned Frank. “But if you’re wrong, I’m still blaming you.”

“I’d expect no less,” mentioned Langley, and tugged on the deal with of the sliding glass door. It slid open simply on its monitor. After ready a second for the shrill cry of an alarm — or worse, a no-face ambush — they stepped inside.

“Looks like a regular old rich person home,” mentioned Frank, and Langley offered a brief nod of assent. He was proper — as they made their manner by means of, they noticed that the place was tastefully designed and outfitted, with trendy (however not too trendy) artwork on the partitions, glowing within the shiny slants of morning daylight that streamed by means of the numerous home windows. The ceiling was excessive and vaulted, with uncovered beams that added a country (however not too rustic) contact. The kitchen was well-appointed. Upstairs and downstairs, the entire thing had a ground plan that balanced distinctive structure and wise design. Just as he had outdoors, Langley discovered himself pondering that he’d been in numerous celebrities’ homes that have been roughly identical to it.It offered, in different phrases, nothing in any respect that felt linked to Neville Pemberton in any manner.

After methodically making their manner by means of, round, and behind each drawer, couch cushion, and nook or cranny they might discover within the mansion’s many assorted rooms, Frank and Langley have been nearly prepared to surrender and head to the outbuilding close to the pool, however as they made their manner downstairs, Langley grabbed Frank’s arm.

“Wait,” he mentioned. “Stop. Be still for a moment. Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Frank requested. “I don’t — oh.”

They checked out one another for a second in wordless acknowledgment, each listening to a deep, rhythmic rumble coming from someplace in the home.

“What is that?” Frank questioned. “We’ve been through every inch of this house. How did we miss whatever’s making that noise?”

“The garage,” mentioned Langley. “We forgot the garage, and it’s huge — it has to have room for at least five cars.” They descended the steps and headed for the storage door, feeling the noise’s depth enhance as they acquired nearer. It continued as they stood outdoors the door, every giving the opposite a questioning look.

“Keep that backpack handy,” mentioned Frank. “We’re liable to want the whole lot in it if Pemberton’s on the opposite facet of this door.”

“I’m ready,” said Langley, although he didn’t fully believe that.

“Use the lunchbox first,” Frank continued. “Just keep throwing bologna sandwiches at him until he surrenders.”Suddenly, the rumbling stopped.

Langley took a deep breath as Frank grabbed the handle and opened the door.

They saw three men seated in a loose semi-circle on the other side — one blond, one dark-haired, and one graying. Two were wearing dark glasses, and they were all holding what looked like weapons.

Wait, no — those weren’t weapons at all. They were… guitars?

And didn’t he recognize those men?

“Hey, man,” said the blond one, lifting his glasses. “Didn’t I meet you at the Grammys or something one year?”

“Tom Petty?” Langley replied, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my house,” laughed Tom Petty, strumming a chord on his guitar. “What are you doing here? And who’s the kid?”

“There must be some mistake,” said Langley. “I’m looking for the house where a man named Neville Pemberton once lived.”

READ MORE: Underrated Tom Petty Songs From Each Album

“You found it,” said Tom Petty. “I bought this place after his daughter died, and now we sort of share it. I think she might be around here somewhere. You want me to get her for you?”

“No, no, don’t get up,” said Langley. “I’m sorry to have interrupted you. This is terribly embarrassing.”

“I could use a time out anyway,” said the dark-haired man, who a still- reeling Langley suddenly realized was Roy Orbison. “Smoke break, George?” The gray-haired man, who Langley now recognized as George Harrison, nodded silently. They both placed their guitars on nearby stands.

“George Harrison, Roy Orbison, and Tom Petty,” Langley marveled quietly. “I’ve walked in on the middle of a Traveling Wilburys rehearsal.”

“Not quite,” said Tom Petty, shaking a disapproving finger. “We won’t be the Wilburys again until Dylan and Jeff Lynne get here. As long as it’s just the three of us, we’re something else. Of course, we can’t agree on a new band name, but that’s a different story.”

“This is all very interesting,” said Frank, clearly not meaning a word of it. “Did someone say ‘smoke break’?”

“Follow us, little fella,” said Roy Orbison, nodding toward the garage’s side door. Shooting Langley a brief warning glance, Frank followed him outside.

“It’s been a long time,” said Tom after the other three exited the garage, leaving them alone. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name. Wasn’t it Langston or Longmont or something?”

“Langley. Langley Powell. Again, I’m so sorry to have interrupted you.”

“Eh,” shrugged Tom. “The song we’re working on isn’t going anywhere. Besides, I bet Connie will be happy to see you. From what I’ve been told, this place used to get all kinds of attention from her dad’s fans, but it’s been years since anyone came around here looking for him.”

“He doesn’t live here, then?”

“Hasn’t lived here since he died,” said Tom. “I’ve never even met the guy. I don’t know where he is, either — all Connie’s ever told me is that he’s ‘away.’”

“When you bought the house,” Langley started uncertainly, “did you find any… personal effects of Neville’s?”

“Nah,” said Tom. “By the time I bought it, Connie had already been here on this plane for 20 years or so. No one was living here at all — when she died, the house and the land were controlled by a trust that kept it empty the whole time.”“Odd,” murmured Langley, slipping the backpack over a chair and sitting down.

“And a fat waste of money, too,” agreed Tom. “The only reason it ended up on the market at all was that the trust ran out and had to be dissolved. As soon as I heard it was on the market, I snapped it up, and I haven’t regretted it since. This is one of the best spots in Malibu.”

“It’s a beautiful home,” said Langley. “And you’re so close to the ocean, too.”

READ MORE: Why Tom Petty Refused to Release Some of His Best Songs

“More importantly, it’s a comfortable distance from Johnny Carson’s house,” said Tom. “He treats the entire town like it’s his personal golf course. Just goes around whacking golf balls wherever he wants — off roofs, through windows, whatever.”

“That sounds awful,” said Langley. “But back to — ”

“And he’s always got his eternal sidekick Ed McMahon with him,” continued Tom. “He has a voice like a foghorn and a laugh like an outboard motor that’s on its last few hundred miles, man. You hear ‘Fore,’ and you only have a few seconds to hit the deck before Johnny sends one sailing into your living room. It’s enough to make you want to move to Reseda.”

“Indeed,” said Langley. “Now about — ”

“But anyway, that’s for the folks in the other part of town to worry about. Like I said, this is one of the best spots in Malibu. The weather’s gorgeous, you’ve got the ocean breeze, and there are plenty of great restaurants nearby.”

“Perfect.”

“And no Johnny Carson.”

“Yes, and no Johnny Carson,” said Langley. “It’s just that I’m still wondering about this Connie person. You said she might be here?”“Oh, absolutely,” said Tom, grinning and waving. “She’s standing right behind you. Hey Connie, say hi to Langley Powell. He’s a fan of your dad’s.”

The above is just one part of the story. To find out where it goes and how it ends, get your own copy of Langley Powell and the Society for the Defense of the Mundane by Jeff Giles!