“I can’t believe you did this, McFly,” Biff rasped. “I can’t believe you loaned me your car without telling me it had a blind spot. I could have been killed.”
Tell him good, Marty thought, tell him we’d all be better off if Biff Tannen was in traction.
George McFly, of course, could not stand up to Biff’s assault. Instead he replied weakly: “Biff, I never noticed any blind spot before.”
“What, are you blind, McFly? It’s there! How else can you explain this?”
Tell him the driver was lousy, Marty thought. If only his father would stand up to him once!
George McFly looked at the ground and made no direct answer to the irrational question. “Can I assume that your insurance will pay for this?” he asked. It sounded more like begging.
“My insurance?” Biff returned hotly. “It’s your car with your blind spot. Your insurance should pay for it. I want to know who’s gonna pay for this.”
He indicated his stained suit.
“I spilled beer all over it when that car hit me,” Biff continued. “Who’s gonna pay the cleaning bill? Tell me, that, McFly.”
Marty couldn’t stand it a minute longer. “Maybe the judge who hears you were drinking while driving will pay for it,” he interjected.
Biff’s eyes narrowed. “Tell your kid to keep outa this, McFly,” he ordered.
George did not issue such an order but he might as well have done so. Pulling out his wallet, he extracted a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Biff. “Will this cover it?” he asked meekly.
Biff snatched the bill out of George’s fingers and cast a quick triumphant glare at Marty.
“It’s a start,” he said.
“It’ll probably buy two of those suits,” Marty shot back.
Biff flushed. “Shut up,” he said.
Then, turning back to his primary target, he said to Marty’s father: “Where are your reports?”
George McFly paled even more than his usual off-white fishy complexion. “Well, I haven’t finished them yet,” he apologized. “I figured that since they weren’t really due till Monday…”
Biff stepped forward and tapped George’s forehead with his fist, like someone rapping on a door. “Hello,” he said. “Is anybody home in there? Think, McFly, think! I’ve gotta have time to get them retyped. If I turn in my reports in your handwriting, I’ll get fired.”
Marty was furious with his father. Tell him to do the reports himself, he thought.
Once again his father backed off. “O.K.,” he said. “I’ll finish them tonight and run them over first thing in the morning, if that’s all right.”
“Not too early,” Biff muttered. “I sleep in on Saturdays.”
Marty turned away. He honestly thought he was about to throw up. Not only was Biff’s treatment of his father subhuman, but also he had just realized that, with the car wrecked, his date with Jennifer was out the window. It had been the worst of all possible days.
Biff Tannen wasn’t through yet, however. As he turned to leave, he looked down at the ground.
“Oh, hey, McFly,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your shoe’s untied.”
“Huh?” George said, falling for it by glancing down at his feet.
As he did so, Biff’s hand flew up, hitting George in the chin. A grating guffaw split the air, Biff Tannen having executed his idea of a terrific practical joke.
“Don’t be so gullible, McFly!” he shouted. “Boy, you haven’t learned a thing in thirty years.”
George, pleading guilty to the charge with his silence, could only grin weakly.
Oblivious to the fact that Marty viewed him with disgust, Biff pointed to his sparkling new Cadillac nearby and winked. “Hiya, kid,” he said, just as if there had been no bad words between them. “How do you like my new paint job?”