“Oh-oh,” Marty whispered as he came out of the cafe. “That’s all we need now, is some meddling flatfoot.”
He started toward the two men, then thought better of it. Doc Brown would be able to handle it better alone. And Marty would also have time to finish his errand of mercy.
He walked over to the tarped DeLorean and picked up Doc Brown’s trenchcoat, which was lying atop the hood. An inside pocket will be best, he thought, one that he might not stick his hand in for a day or two. Placing the envelope in the left side, he tossed the coat back on the car. Even as he did so, however, another thought entered his mind. Suppose he never uses that pocket and never finds it? Wouldn’t it be better to put the note in the glove compartment of his Packard? He took a step back toward the Delorean.
“No,” he said. “Stop trying to outthink fate. If he gets it, he gets it. If he’s not meant to, he won’t find it no matter what you do.”
That matter resolved, he moved closer to the two men so that he could at least hear the conversation.
The cop spent a great deal of time just looking. Then, finally, he spoke. “Evening, Dr. Brown,” he said. “What’s with the wire?”
“Oh, I’m just doing a little weather experiment. Something that’ll benefit the city a lot if it works.”
“Is that so?”
“Yessir. That’s so.”
“And what’s under here?” the cop asked, pointing to the DeLorean.
Doc Brown never flinched, the consummate verbal escape artist. “Some new specialized weather-sensing equipment,” he replied.
“Looks like a car,” the cop said.
“Well, it has wheels,” Doc answered. It has to have wheels so I can move it. Anyway, officer, why do you ask? Does it make a difference if it’s a car or a portable laboratory?”
“If it’s a car, it’s parked illegally,” the cop pointed out. “There’s a red line.”
“Yessir. I won’t do that again, even though it’s not really a car. But if you don’t mind, I need to leave it there temporarily.”
He came down from the ladder, his work completed, and smiled genially at the officer.
“You got a permit for this?” the cop asked, not returning the smile.
“Of course I do,” Doc Brown replied. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his wallet and withdrew a fifty-dollar bill. “A permit straight from Washington,” he added.
“You’re not gonna set anything on fire this time, are you, Dr. Brown?” the cop asked, looking around nervously as he allowed the bill to slide from Brown’s palm to his.
“No, sir,” Doc Brown replied. “This experiment is child’s play.”
“In that case,” the cop said, “good luck.”
“Thank you, officer.”
The cop nodded, crossed back over the street and continued testing the doors of the shops along 2nd Street. “Well done,” Marty said. “I thought for a minute there one of your many variables was gonna screw us up.”
“I had a twinge myself,” Doc Brown said. He looked at his watch. “Say, kid, you’d better pick up your mom and get going.”
“Yeah, I guess I’d better,” Marty mumbled.
“You look a little pale. Are you O.K.?”
In fact, Marty didn’t feel so good. There was so much to do! And nothing could go wrong. First he had to get his mom and dad together, then time his run just right, attain the fastest speed anybody had ever done on Main Street, and hope that Doc’s calculations were correct. For the first time, he felt that he was truly balancing a tightrope between three separate worlds—1985, 1955 and…death. If the lightning bolt did not function in exactly the same manner as plutonium, Marty would end up buried in the back wall of the Bank of America. Or perhaps he and the DeLorean would be hurled in some sort of imperfect time-space orbit that would deposit them in Kansas, Afghanistan, or Irkutsk. Strangely, however, he knew that he could face those tests. What bothered him more than anything was having to deal with his parents, particularly Mom.
“What is it?” Doc Brown asked, sensing his mental turmoil.
“I don’t know, Doc,” he replied. “I guess it’s this whole thing with my mother. I don’t know if I can go through with it.”
“Why not? What’s the problem?”