The doorbell rang with a chime that lasted a full fifteen seconds, beautifully melodic, which was odd as not only did we not have a doorbell that chimed, we did not have a doorbell at all.
My mother and middle older sister answered the door and greeted a group of young men on the front porch with loud, cheerful hello's. The group appeared to be a 1950's era gang of hoods greatly influenced by the movie "The Wild One," all of them clad in black leather motorcycle jackets over white T-shirts, and Levi jeans with four inch cuffs at the ankles. However, each and everyone of them sported open-toe huarache sandals, the slip-on style that didn't have a back for the heel.
They were not a 1950's era gang of hoods though, they were in fact the Backstreet Boys, and my Mother and middle older sister instantly knew adventure with a capital T for trouble was imminent.
As one (in 5 part harmony) they asked if I was home and my mother replied in the affirmative and then sent my middle older sister to get me.
I was in the middle of reading a pop-up edition of "Black and Red: My 44 Years In The Soviet Union" by Robert Nathaniel Robertson and munching on a bowl of deep-fried sauerkraut balls, but had gotten to the part wherein Paul Robeson, during a visit to a factory that Robertson worked in, turned a deaf ear to his pleas for help in getting out of the Soviet Union (difficult read, that), so the interruption was welcome.
My mother turned to me as I approached the door and mouthed the words "McLean is smoking again, get him off my porch." Mom never could tolerate cigarette smoking.
"Hey guys, what's up?" I said when I walked out onto the porch. In sync all of them turned to me and stood silently for a few seconds, then Littrell piped up and said "John Sunlight has escaped from the escape-proof Velveteen Island prison, Doc needs our help recapturing him".
To say I was gasted would be an understatement - I was full-on flabbergasted. Capturing John Sunlight had been Doc's greatest victory but it had come at the cost of Colonel Mayfair's nose for disturbing insinuations, Major Robert's sense of inexpedient propriety, Bill Littlejohn's desire for chocolate eclairs, General Brook's incomparable ability to balance 37 pennies on his tongue, and Colonel Renwick's extraordinary skill at cooking sausages, all of which had the effect of rendering the team useless in future endeavors.
Which is where we came in. In a weird (some would say grotesque) twist of fate, Doc had stumbled across the boys and I as we were engaged in a charity footbag game against the Legion of Uneasy Cohorts in Skullduggery, our stunning upset win of the championship convincing Savage that we would be the perfect replacements for the trusted fabulous five.
And thus we became the sensational six.
Littrell continued. "We need you to get dressed in a hurry - Doc is waiting at the heliport, and every second we delay, our chances of capturing Sunlight dims. Get a move on!"
Spittle flew from Littrell's mouth as he reflexively sang those words in his two-octave tenor - that's when I realized how serious the situation was.
Coincidently, that's also when I realised I was standing on the front porch naked as a featherless jaybird.
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