Back To The Future

“I told you never to call me here,” Marty continued. “I’m in school.”

“I know,” the man called Doc replied. “I had to get in touch with you.”

“Why? What’s so important?”

“You’ll see. Listen, can you meet me at Peabody’s Farm around 1:15?”

“Peabody’s Farm? Where’s that?”

“I’m sorry,” Doc amended. “I mean Twin Pines Mall. I still think of it as Peabody’s Farm, but I guess that was before your time.”

Marty looked up at the large clock on the wall. “But it’s after 1:15 already,” he replied.

“I mean 1:15 in the morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? About ten hours from now?”

“Yeah.”

Gerald Strickland smiled. Whatever the “emergency,” it was obviously something that could have waited until the young man was out of class, school, and had arrived home. He had seen through the sham after all and he experienced a surge of pride in his continuing ability to outwit those nearly fifty years younger.

“Let me get this straight,” Marty said into the phone. “You want me to meet you at Twin Pines Mall at 1:15 tomorrow morning?”

“Right. I’ve made a major breakthrough and I’ll need your assistance.”

“Can’t you tell me now?” Marty asked.

Gerald Strickland found himself nodding in response. Yes, he thought, do explain more. Whatever it was sounded definitely shady and perhaps illegal. Most students are notoriously lazy, not at all likely to be awake at such an early hour. What could they be engaged in? He licked his lips, fascinated at the possibilities in this telephone call. It had made his otherwise dreary day.

But the one known as Doc was obviously a cagey customer.

Refusing to yield more information, either to McFly or Strickland, he said simply: “Look, I’ll give you all the details at the appropriate time.”

“O.K.,” Marty replied.

“Oh, and Marty,” Doc continued. “Good luck on your gig this afternoon.”

“How did you know about that?” Marty asked.

But there was only a click and silence at the end of the wire.

Gig, Strickland repeated inwardly. He had heard the word used before, of course. It usually referred to something musical, but he had heard it used less definitely. Perhaps whatever Marty McFly was involved in was shady enough to be mentioned elliptically. But no matter. The gig, innocent or evil, would not be attended by McFly this afternoon.

With that, Gerald Strickland placed his receiver down and started out of the office. He reached Marty just as he was about to push through the swinging door separating the inner office from the waiting area.

“Just a minute,” Strickland said.

Marty stopped, looked at the older man with a blank expression.

“Are you finished with your emergency call?” Strickland asked, a slight smile playing at the ends of his thin lips.

“Yessir.”

“And is everyone in your family well?”

Marty nodded.

“Then may I ask what the emergency was?”