‘Could be,’ Old Biff went on slyly, ‘I’m the guy to show you how.’
‘Sure, right. Who are you supposed to be, pops? My fairy godmother?’
Marty thought the young Biff would be surprised to know just how right he was.
‘Let’s just say we’re related, Biff,’ the older version answered. ‘And, that being the case, I’ve got a little present for you.’
There was a rustling up in the front seat. This was it! Old Biff was going to show him the almanac!
‘See this book?’ Old Biff continued. ‘This book will tell you the outcome of every major sports event ’til the end of the century. All you have to do is bet on the winner and you’ll never lose. ’
‘That’s very nice,’ the teenager replied, as if he was sure now that the old man was crazy. ‘Thank you very much.’ His voice gained a hard edge as he added: ‘Now why don’t you just make like a tree and get outta here!’
‘It’s “leave” you idiot! ’ Old Biff shouted back at him.
' "Make like a tree and leave!” You sound like a damned fool when you say it wrong! ’
‘Fine!' the teenager snapped, still not convinced ‘And take your book with you! ’
But Old Biff wouldn’t leave.
‘Sure,’ he insisted sarcastically, ‘be a butthead and be poor for the rest of your life. But you could be rich. You could buy anything you want. Have any girl you want. You could own this town.’ He paused for a minute, like a guy who had hooked the fish and was just waiting to reel it in. ‘All you gotta do is bet on the winners.’
There was a crackle of static. For one panicked second, Marty thought Doc was calling him on the walkie-talkie. The Biffs would hear - he’d be discovered - everything was lost.
And then Marty realised one of the Biffs had turned on the radio. He heard a couple of blasts of music as somebody fiddled with the dial, then the sound of a crowd - the kind of noise you always heard in the background of a baseball or football game.
‘Five yard penalty on UCLA,’ the radio sports-caster announced, ‘pushing them back to the Washington nineteen yard line. UCLA trails, seventeen to sixteen. It’s fourth and eleven with only forty-eight seconds remaining in this game. The Bruins have not looked good today, and I’d say that Washington has pulled off the biggest upset of the season! ’
Marty could hear the sound of pages turning.
‘He’s wrong,’ Old Biff said authoritatively. ‘UCLA’s gonna win it - nineteen to seventeen.*
‘What, are you deaf, old man?’ the younger Biff asked. ‘He just said it was over!’
‘Here’s the snap by Palmer to Bradley,’ the sports-caster said, even louder than before. Marty realised Old Biff must have turned up the radio. ‘Decker back to place-kick formation. Here comes Decker with the kick, it looks good folks, it looks very good -
‘FIELD GOAL!’ the announcer screamed over the roar of the crowd. ‘Nineteen to seventeen, UCLA and this Coliseum crowd is going wild! A perfect thirty five yard kick for senior halfback Jim Decker, with less than eighteen seconds remaining, wins thi
s game for UCLA!’ The announcer’s voice dropped an octave. ‘And Bob, I wonder what the odds of something like this happening are?’
‘Speaking of odds, Bill,’ a different voice replied. ‘UCLA was a twenty point favourite to win thin game,' Bob chuckled. ‘I sure wish I’d taken a point spread on this one. I could have made a small fortune! I tell you, Bill-’
‘You hear that, Biff?’ the oldster asked triumphantly as he turned off the radio. ‘If you’d have bat on this game, you’d have cleaned up! Now, would you like to have this book?’
‘OK, pops,’ the young Biff answered, a touch of in his voice. ‘I’ll take a look at it. But it sounds crazy to me.’
‘Check it against the sports page tomorrow,’ the senior citizen insisted, ‘and then decide if it's crazy.’
Something went thunk on the back seat of the car. Marty looked up. It was the sports book! Biff must have tossed it back here after his older self gave it to him. All Marty had to do was reach out and grab -
A liver-spotted hand closed aver the book and snatched it away.
‘You damned fool!’ Old Biff yelled. ‘Never leave this book lying around! Don’t you have a safe?’ The old man made a disgusted sound, deep in his throat. ‘No, you don’t have a safe. Get a safe! Keep the book locked up! And until then, keep the book on you! Like this!’
Marty could hear Old Biff stuffing the book some place or other. Car doors opened and closed. They were getting out!
‘And don’t ever tell anybody about it, either,’ Old Biff continued, his voice growing fainter as the two walked away. ‘Oh, there’s one more thing.’