The impound lot for Hill Valley was actually the local junk yard, and it was also owned by Frank, who happened to own the towing company and the Texaco. It was off to the left of the junk yard, sharing a high, 7 foot chain link fence with barbed wire angled outward at the top
In the front was extra privacy, with large plank boards covering the chain link. This was located just on the edge of town, a source of contention to many who did not like the eyesore.
Bright and early, Doc Brown backed a tow vehicle in through the now open gate. Marty rode shotgun. They stopped just inside the gate and climbed out. They were in a fenced in court yard with a single shack at the center. Marty looked around for the Delorean through th fencing but didn't see it.
“Wait here,” said Doc, I'll go pay the fine.
Marty leaned up against the bumper of the rented tow vehicle while Doc made his way into the attendant shack.
About 10 minutes later Doc emerged, and the attendant followed locking the door behind him.
“I'll be right back with your car... or whatever the heck that thing is.” The crew cut heavy set attendant told them.
Marty straightened. “Your driving it?” He shouted out to the attendant. He nodded. “Company policy,” he said, “I can't let anyone back there.” “Well, can you tow it then?”
He shook his head, looking confused and just a little bit irritated. “I know how to drive!' “Ya, I'm sure you do,” responded Marty, “but as you may or may not know that is a highly valuable prop from MGM studios and I'd rather you didn't drive it.
“Well,” said the attendant, “I don't have a tow vehicle here, and I'd have to charge you for another tow.
Doc reached into his pocket, looking down in annoyance, he pulled out the keys to his tow truck and tossed them at the attendant. “You can use mine.”
The guy caught it and smiled. “I'll still have to charge you for the tow.” Doc and Marty both glared at him.
He started laughing. “I'm just foolin', man you two need to lighten up.” The attendant ran past them, jumped in the truck and started it up. Then he drove it to the back of the court yard, jumped out, unlocked the inner gate and swung it open, then jumped back into the truck, tearing out, and throwing gravel as he entered.
“What a lunatic,” remarked the Doc.
“Ya, that seems to be a common theme here in Hill Valley circa 1955,” Marty retorted. Doc looked at him funny.
“I didn't mean you.” He assured the older man. “I wouldn't think so,” said Doc.
As they waited Marty continued an older conversation they were having on the way over. “Doc I told you we don't have to tow it back to your house, it runs good, I just had it tuned up.” “And I told YOU, Marty” objected Doc, “I can't have you driving a 1985 time around 1955 Hill Valley.”
Marty looked around. “Okay, whatever you say, you're the Doc, Doc.”
Not very long went by and the tow truck reappeared with the Delorean. The attendant pulled it right up next to them.
Immediately they both grabbed the canvas tarp they had brought with them, and before the driver even got out, they were covering the Delorean.
“Okay,” said the attendant as they ignored him completely, “I guess that's it.” “Ya, thanks” said Doc, tying the tarp down feverishly.
“The keys are in the truck,” the attendant told them as he walked back to his shack, fascinated by how seriously they covered the vehicle.
Marty looked at his watch. “Doc! We have to get going, that thing I told you about.” “Marty, I”m going to say this again,” said Doc, again annoyed at his persistence, “we are not sure exactly what you did to alter your future, you coming back here and snooping around in the past can only lead to disaster!”
“I hear ya, Doc, but it's on the way home anyway. Didn't you say we have to take the back streets to keep from being seen as much as possible?”
Doc nodded.
“Well, I know a short cut and it just so happens what I wanted to see is right along the way.”
Doc mulled it over. “Then maybe we should take another route.” He decided. “What street did you say this thing happens on?”
“Never mind,” Marty said, giving up. In the back of his mind he realized that as long as he had plutonium he had all the time in the world to stop George Mcfly from being put in a wheel chair.
Doc finished checking the last tie down on the tarp, then leaned on the tow truck fender, as if exhausted by this tug and pull battle with Marty.
“I can't imagine what I was thinking,” he remarked almost to himself, “involving a teenager in time travel experiments! I must somehow lose my mind in the next 30 years.”
Marty ignored him, jumping into the passenger side of the truck.
Doc Brown moved toward the driver's side door of the tow truck staring into the sky in lament. He climbed in and Marty climbed in. Doc then started the truck in silence and pulled away with Marty looking apprehensively at his watch.
Doc eyed him out of the corner of his eye suspiciously. He hid his watch and pretended it meant nothing to him.
* * * * * * * * * *
The old neighborhood, as Marty knew it, in Hill Valley, in 1955 was not so old. It was a vibrant suburban environment. Little pink and white houses, lined up like monopoly pieces. Freshly trimmed lawns. The neighborhood always had a lawn mower going somewhere and it smelled of fresh cut grass and shrubbery almost year round. People walked their dogs leisurely and chatted, waving friendly waves at one another and shouting happy greetings. It was a Norman Rockwell world. The paperboy was just finishing his rounds, two cloth
satchels, one on either side of his luggage rack behind the seat. He would reach back and with the expertise of a major league pitcher toss each paper onto everyone's porch.
A milk man stopped at almost every house, running up to the door with his load, grabbing the empties and replacing them with fresh Vitamin D milk. A diaper service was making its rounds as well.
George Mcfly was in a hurry, pedaling his bicycle down the street like a madman. He was heading to her house. Lorraine Baines. His new sweetheart. He was dressed in a brown suit coat, matching pants and a white shirt with a thin black tie. This was George's idea of a “courting” outfit. It had only been two days since his fateful encounter with Biff in the parking lot of the school and he was still very much the nerd he had always been.
As he approached an intersection and began to cross it, a large black sedan that had been lying in wait in a nearby driveway pulled out, tires squealing and accelerated right toward him. Inside were Biff and his 3 henchmen. They were headed right straight for George as he finished crossing the intersection.
Seconds before Biff's car crossed the intersection and would have rammed into George, coming from the other direction was a tow truck. Doc's tow truck. It quickly entered the intersection.
Marty, sat up and, seeing his dad and then seeing Biff's car realized what was about to happen and shouted.
“STOP!”
Doc, in a panic slammed down on the breaks out of pure reflex. They stopped right in the path of Biff's sedan. Coming between Biff and his prize.
Biff also slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt.
Marty, smiled, satisfied. It couldn't have worked out better if he'd tried to arrange this. Fate was on his side.
The top was down on Biff's 1946 Ford Super De Luxe. He was furious. He jumped up and started yelling.
“What the HELL is wrong with you?” He shouted at Doc's tow truck, “You MORON?” Doc Brown looked out the window at Biff, then, over at George McFly on his bike, who had stopped and turned to see what was going on himself. Then he glared at Marty, who smiled apologetically and innocently at him.
“Wasn't my idea to go this way, remember?” Said Marty innocently.
George laid his bike down and out of curiosity began to walk around the tow truck to see what Biff was yelling at.
Marty saw this and acted fast, opening the truck door and jumping out, stepping in front of a startled George.
“Hey Dad... daddy-o,” Marty said warmly. George stared at him in complete surprise. “Calvin?”
Marty jumped in surprise. George of 1985 was right, Calvin was him, or, the other him anyway. “Hey, George buddy, where ya going?” He asked his father.
George pointed at the noise on the other side.
Doc had got out and was apologizing profusely to a Biff who was growing angrier and angrier that he would not move the truck.
George attempted to croon his neck around and see.
“Move this bucket of bolts right now old man or I'll move it for you!” Threatened Biff.
“Well, I'm sorry sir,” said Doc, “but I must have flooded it as I entered the intersection, she might take a few minutes for the extra fuel to evaporate.”
On the other side of the truck Marty was almost shoving George away, back toward his bike. “Listen, George,” said Marty urgently, “you gotta go right now, take my word for it, you don't want to stick around.”
George was still trying to find out what was going on with Biff.
Marty ushered him to his bike and picked it up for him, practically forcing him onto it. “I'm telling you George,” he said, “take my word for it and trust me, you need to split right now!”
George, looking at Marty's face, realized that maybe he was right.
“Okay, well, then” says George, “I was supposed to walk Lorraine to school but I'm late!” “You can't miss that!” Said Marty practically giving him a shove on the bike. “I'll talk to you later!” George started slowly pedaling away, looking back at Marty and the tow truck in
complete confusion.
Biff was in his car again and he was honking at Doc.
Doc was sitting in the truck pretending to try and start it. He held up his hands in a helpless gesture.
Biff laid on the horn hard.
“Dammit, what a dumbass,” he shouted.
Suddenly Marty walked deliberately around the front of the truck, rolling his sleeves up as he went, looking totally unintimidated. His stride was confident and meaningful.
Biff, saw him and laid off the horn, unable to believe his eyes! He hopped out of the convertible again, without opening the door.
“Well, looky who we have here!” He almost sang the words. He henchmen looked, and also exited the vehicle, their heads down.
“You, butthead, KLEIN,” Biff screamed pointing at Marty. “You little SHIT, you got something that belongs to me and I want it back!”
“I don't know what you're talking about, BIFF,” Marty denied, spitting out the young man's name like it was a swear word, an insult.
Biff looked like he was going to kill Marty. He quickly stomped over to the much smaller kid. He stopped just short of slamming his chest into Marty's face, as he saw Doc getting out of the truck, as if seeing him for the first time.
Suddenly, Doc didn't look like some helpless stupid old codger anymore.
Biff pointed at Doc and shouted, “You had something to do with all this I'm betting!” Doc looked at him innocently, like he's insane, pointing at himself and innocently shrugging. “Who me?”
“I'll deal with you later old man!”
Biff turned his attention back to Marty and shoved him hard. He stumbled backwards but never lost his balance and never fell.
and gather on the sidewalks.
Biff's henchmen began to circle Marty like a pack of laughing hyenas. “That's real fair, four guys against ONE.” Said Marty.
“Ya, you punks” a large man in a white body shirt holding a wrench shouted, “why don't you guys pick on someone your own size.”
Marty walked back over toward Biff, defiantly, unafraid.
They squared off face to face, or more accurately it was forehead to chin. “Let's you and me settle this mono a mono,” suggested Marty.
“Mono what? I ain't got Mono!” Biff said, incredulously.
One of the henchmen punched his fist. “That's the kissing disease Biff, this queer wants to kiss you.”
Marty explained to the big oaf. “That means just you and me man to man Biff, right here right now!”
Biff smirked at the suggestion. His voice went low. “Alright, twerp, you've been asking for this ever since I met you.”
“Ahem,” Doc cleared his throat. Marty looked at Doc quizzically. Doc waved him over to him.
Marty looked at Biff. “I'll be right back.”
“Ya, sure you will.” Biff laughed, then the smile dropped to a menacing frown. “You BETTER!”
Marty went over to Doc.
Doc whispered, “Marty are you sure you know what you're doing fighting that animal? Look at him he's a brute. Plus, think of what you could be doing to the timeline!”
“Yes, Doc, I'm sure, and believe me, that's exactly what I'm thinking about. Doc looks at Biff again uncertainly.
Marty leaned in and whispered, “Doc, my dad had money. Boxing lessons twice a week for 6 years, junior varsity boxing champion 3 years in a row.”
Doc looked completely impressed, but unyielding in his objections.
“No one has ever put this asshole in his place,” Marty said, defiantly, “it's high time he had a good ass whoopin, and I believe I'm the one to do it!
Doc looked over at Biff once again.
“C'mon runt, let's get to it.” Biff taunted. “What are you chicken?” The color drained from Marty's face.
Doc looked back at Marty who was now seething. He nodded and made a gesture as if to say, “be my guest.” “Knock his block off!” Doc told him.
Marty hiked up his already rolled sleeves even further, turned and approached Biff bodly. Biff just smirked and ripped his shirt off, handing it to one of his henchmen.
The guy in the body shirt shouted to Doc, “I got 20 says the little guy gets creamed.” Doc looked at him then said, “you got a bet, mister.” The man stepped over and he and Doc shook on the bet, while Marty and Biff were squaring off, moving around each other in a circle. .
Marty was dancing now in a typical boxing stance. “Move like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” He said outloud.
Biff just looked irritated.
One of his henchmen heard Marty and laughed, “hear that Biff, told you the kid was a fairy, talking about butterflies and bees...”
Biff didn't look away, he just got madder and madder as Marty kept dancing around him. “Stand still, runt, so I can finish you!” Biff spewed in anger.
Marty obliged him, stopping and holding his fists in block position. He took one hand and made a “come get me” gesture to Biff.”
Biff moved incredibly fast for a lumbering ox. He was on Marty before the kid expected it and hit him full force with a terrible right hook. Marty's head snapped back like a rag doll and blood spurted out from his nose and his mouth. He flew backward from the impact, falling right next to Doc.
Biff grinned from ear to ear and dropped his guard. Doc leaned over a dazed Marty and helped him up. “What are you doing?” Doc whispers.
“I'm wearing him down” Marty whispered back. “Oh,” said Doc, “that's what you call it.”
Marty brushed himself off. “Okay, so I'm a bit out of practice.” He admitted.
Biff is just stood there, arms outstretched, laughing and turning in a circle, looking at everyone as if to say “see.”
His typical gloating, he was used to winning his fights with one punch. “Well, I'd suggest you get IN practice” Doc suggested, “and fast.” Marty nodded. “I think your right.” “he put up his dukes again.
“Hey!” He yelled at Biff. The big man's back was to him, as if he were leaving. Biff stopped and slowly turned around with a menacing glare.
“We aren't done yet!” Said Marty. “I'd say this party is just getting started!” “Well bring it on butt wipe!” Said Biff as he moved in, fists at the ready. This time Marty doesn't just stand there and get hit.
Biff tried to deck him straight on but Marty dodged the blow easily, coming back with a right cross that connected surprisingly hard for a little guy.
Biff actually staggered back.
The crowd murmured. The henchmen started to also move in on Marty, but a couple of large burly men, including the guy in the body shirt, held out their arms to block their path, a look of warning on their faces.
advantage of his greater height and ducked down, moved in under the swing and delivered a left and a right to his chin then a quick left, right left to his abdomen.
Biff crumpled over and Marty stepped back, just in time because Biff reached out with his mighty right arm and almost clocked him.
Marty danced to the left of Biff then almost got behind him, completely disorienting the big lout.
As Biff swung around to face him and take another poke, Marty did a little jig, which confuses Biff just long enough for him to deliver five more devastating blows.
Now Marty was dancing around Biff and the big man just looked awkward, like a clumsy oaf, next to the more skilled fighting technique of this newcomer.
Biff never connected another blow. Marty was just too damned fast.
In the end Marty backed up, surveying the blood face of Biff Tannen, who'd finally met his match and was standing there, dazed, confused, panting hard with exhaustion trying to keep up with this little dynamo.
“Had enough?” Marty asked.
“Biff, bloody and battered wiped his face and scowled.” Then he put his head down and charged Marty like a bull.
But Marty was ready for that. He dodged to the side and gave the big man a shove with