Doc waved the question away with his free hand. ‘Please, Marty, no one should know too much about their own destiny.’
‘Sure, Doc. Right.’ That's right, Marty thought Doc Brown had mentioned this destiny business before - that was the whole reason Jennifer was snoozing in the car. ‘But am I rich?’
Doc sighed. ‘Damn. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this. Maybe I should just forget this whole thing and take you back home.'
Home? No way did he want to go home! Marty decided he’d better apologise.
‘Hey. I’m sorry. Doc. I'm just excited, that’s all. Everybody wants to know about their future.’
That’s what I’m afraid of.’ Doc sighed again. He held the gym-bag-of-the-future out to Marty.
After looking at the bag for a second, Marty pulled open the velcro seal.
‘All right,' Doc instructed, ‘take off your shirt, put on the jacket, the shoes, and the cap.’
Marty set the bag down on the rear end of the DeLorean. As Marty started to unbutton his shirt. Doc leaned into the car beneath the open gull-wing door. A moment later, he lifted the still-sleeping Jennifer out of the passenger seat, placing her gently in a broad doorway on the alley's side.
Marty paused in his unbuttoning.
‘You mean we’re just gonna leave her?’
‘It’s too risky to take her with me.’ Doc answered regretfully. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be safe. She’s out of sight, and it’ll just be for a few minutes.’
Doc reached in his pocket and pulled out a plastic card with a pair of eyeholes, and the words POCKET BINOCULARS printed beneath. It looked like some cheap plastic toy, the kind of thing you find as a prize in a serial box. The way Doc handled it, though Marty suspected it was really a more compact, fully functional future model.
Doc ran to the far end of the alley and peered through his card.
Marty pulled off his white, striped shirt, leaving only the purple t-shirt he wore underneath. He pulled the jacket from the bag, but, as he pulled it on, was somewhat distressed to realise it was four sizes too big and baggy, with sleeves that hung down to his knees. How could Doc expect him to wear something like this?
Marty shook the sleeves. Was there some way to roll them up or something? His fingers brushed against a small patch near the right cuff - a patch that read UNI-SIZE FORM FIT.
The jacket instantly shrank to fit, sleeves stopping precisely at the wrist as the coat's sides tailored themselves to his rib-cage. After a moment’s shock, Marty decided that this was more like it!
So what else did he have to put on? Marty pulled out a pair of future sneakers from the bottom of the bag.
Doc apparently had seen what he was looking for. He tucked his binocular card in his pocket, he hurried b
ack to the car.
Marty had slipped the shoes on his feet, but they were still loose, a lot like the jacket a moment ago, and he could see no way to tie them. Except there was a pad - like the one on his jacket - on the right sneaker. After a moment's hesitation, he pressed it softly.
The sneakers zip-laced themselves shut.
‘Power laces!' Marty cheered. 'All right!’
Marty pulled the cap from the bag. and stuffed his everyday shirt and shoes in its place. The hat looked more or less like a baseball cap, except for whatever shining fabric it was made of - a fabric that seemed to change colour every time the cap moved.
Doc stood by the car. He appeared to be waiting for Marty.
‘OK, Doc,’ Marty asked obligingly as he stuck the cap on his head. ‘So what’s the deal?’
Doc glanced at his watch, then pointed down to the far end of the alley. ‘In exactly two minutes, you go around the corner, into the Café 80's.’
‘Café 80’s?’
‘It's one of those nostalgia places,' Doc explained, ‘but not done very well. Go in and order a Pepsi.’ Doc rummaged in his pocket, then pulled out a crumpled bill. ‘Here’s a fifty.’
Marty accepted the paper money. It looked more or less like the money Marty was used to - although Marty was a lot more used to handling tens and twenties than fifties. Doc was being awfully generous here. A fifty dollar bill for a Pepsi? Oh, well. He probably wanted to make sure Marty had some money left over in case of emergencies. Marty stuffed the fifty into the pocket of his jacket.