Disclaimer: I haven't bought BTTF in the time since I wrote the last chapter of this story.
Author's Note: 4 down, 29 to go! I hope everyone likes the new chapter I wrote. Please review.
4: Chapter Three
September 7, 1885
07:05 AM PDT
Buford Tannen groaned, as he felt himself being kicked in the left side. He grabbed his gun, wondering whoever could be doing this to him. Most likely one of his gang. He really ought to teach them a lesson someday. Opening his eyes, he blinked if what he was seeing was right.
A totally unfamiliar man who looked to be almost ninety was doing the kicking, with a cane no less. Buford admired the cane for a second, before he climbed up. Whoever this man was, he'd better stop the kicking right now or he'd get a slap on the head, and hard. He still had to try out his guns, after all…
"I see you're up" the man said in a taunting voice. "Now that you're awake, I can talk to you. There's a little matter we need to talk about."
"If it's death, you picked the right person to talk to, old man" Buford sneered. "I got some guns here that can help you to die really unpleasant. So if you don't get away from here right now, I'll hunt you down and shoot you down like a duck."
The man than slapped on Buford's head with the cane. "It's dog, you idiot!" he called out. "Shoot you down like a dog! You sound like such a duded-up egg-sucking gutter-trash when you say it wrong!"
"All right then dog!" Buford said, getting up completely now. "And now I'm doing just that! You thought the wrong thing when you decided to mess with Buford Tannen, you runt!"
"Who are ya calling a runt," the old man returned, "runt!"
"Ya ain't calling me my own saying!" Buford protested. He loaded his gun. "Not that you are soon going to be calling much anymore…"
The older man visibly paled, much to Buford's pleasure. "All right, now calm down" he said. "I just got something I want to talk to you about and no, it's not death. I got a little present for you that'll make you richer than you ever wanted. You want to be wealthy right?"
"Of course I would" Buford returned. "Who wouldn't wanna be?" He chuckled. "You're going to make me wealthy? You're going to make me rich? I already told you runt, you better go away. I don't believe ya, anyway." He smiled as he realized he'd actually said the words in rhyme.
"I still do want you to" the old man said. "I'm telling the truth, and I can show it to you." He held up the bag he was holding, and got out a book, which he gave to Buford. "You see this book? This book tells the future. It tells everything about the history of Hill Valley up until 1930. This book is worth millions of dollars and I'm giving it to you."
"You think I believe that?" Buford asked. "I'm not that dumb, old man. This book is fake." He looked down. It did say '1850-1930', didn't it? He couldn't read that well, but he kind of figured it said that. Still, it was certainly not true.
"You really think so?" the old man taunted back. "Let's show you something, then." He sat down and started flipping the pages. Buford rolled his eyes, waiting for whatever the old man was going to show him. Anyway, it certainly wasn't going to be true, really.
oooooooo
Marty McFly breathed hard, as he'd reached Clara Clayton's cabin. He'd been driving for about twenty minutes, and felt exhausted. Still, he had to find Doc. Rushing, he got off his horse, and ran up to the house, which Clara was just leaving. "Clara!" he exclaimed. "Clara!"
As Clara saw him, she unexpectedly changed her look into one of anger, stopping Marty dead in his tracks. "What are you doing here?" she snapped. "Are you coming to have a look if your friend's plan succeeded? I could've known Emmett was setting me up all the time! But yesterday evening…" Marty saw faint tears coming out of her eyes.
The teenager headed back to his horse, not daring to say anything more, as Clara walked away from the house. What could've happened? Obviously, Doc had met Clara again – and this time, they hadn't parted on good terms. But what could've happened? There was just one man that could tell Marty.
Confused and exhausted, Marty jumped on his horse again, and rode the animal away from the school cabin, towards downtown Hill Valley, which housed option 2 of possible locations Doc could be: the blacksmith shop.
oooooooo
Verne watched in disbelief, as he'd reached Buford's camp. He saw that Old Buford was already there, and that the older man was explaining some things about the history book to his younger self. Realizing he shouldn't be seen by Old Buford, he ducked behind a bush, waiting.
As he just sat there, he worried what all would happen to him and Jules, if they didn't manage to get the book away from Buford. That certainly wouldn't be good. He picked a pair of binoculars out of his pocket, and started watching the two versions of the same person.
oooooooo
Alternate Marty watched in amusement, as he saw Old Buford arguing with the younger one. As much as he hated both of them – and anyone who was an ancestor or descendant of the Tannen family – it was still fun to watch. He wondered if Young Biff's conversation with Old Biff had gone this way, too. Unfortunately, his grandfather couldn't enjoy it too much – as he had to deal with getting the almanac back, and not being noticed. They could enjoy it, though.
"Look, runt" Old Buford said, as he'd stopped flipping pages. "As you can see, it says right here that you robbed the Pine City Stage yesterday. This newspaper is from today – how can they know what you did yesterday, here in Hill Valley, while this paper won't even be printed until 7:30 today? This paper's from the future. The next paper is, too."
"Clint Eastwood Defeats Buford 'Mad Dog' Tannen?" Buford read aloud. "What is that for a stupid headline, it don't make sense! I am going to defeat that yellow belly, and he's not going to win of me! What kind of a paper is this?" He skipped some articles. "Eastwood Boy To Fall In Shonash Ravine! What the hell is that punk doing there in the first place!" He snickered. "This is complete nonsense and you know it!"
"I can't believe Old Buford showed Young Buford the info about him going to be beaten today" Local Marty said. "If that would've gone wrong, and Buford would've believed in the paper… well, I'd say that I wouldn't be here right now."
"You aren't" Local Sarah pointed out. "We only think we're here. We're actually still on the early evening of September 7, 2046. We can't touch anything or say anything to the locals, you know? We're not really here."
"Very funny, good one Sarah" Local Marty sarcastically said. "You know what I mean. I just meant that Grandpa would be killed, so he couldn't marry Grandma Jennifer and have kids with her. You understood that, didn't you? So don't act that stupid."
"You can't take a little humour from my counterpart" Alternate Sarah teased, playfully. "I guess I'm happy that I am dating the other you, and not you."
"Hey" Local Marty said, laughing. "Don't you go say those things to me, now!"
"Shut up, both of you" Alternate Marty then said. "And listen to the Buford's conversing. As much as I hate them, I am really having a lot of fun. They are so much like each other, as they're the same person – yet so different by being separated by 50 years in time. Y'know, they might as well start a comedy show together."
"Were the Griff's the same?" Local Sarah asked, curiously.
"Can't really tell" Alternate Marty admitted. "I was trying to listen, but from where I was situated – in a tree – I couldn't hear much. And Old Griff left soon, anyway. That was when Young Griff walked away, throwing the almanac in the trash can. And I moved forward, trying to grab it."
"Which you couldn't," Alternate Sarah said, sarcastically, "so you decided to fall out of the tree and hit your head on the only stone in a wide range."
"It wasn't on purpose!" Alternate Marty exclaimed. "Anyway… let's watch."
Down below, Old Buford had found out that Young Buford wasn't listening to him. "Now, listen," he said, trying to find a way to convince his younger self. "Why don't you take a look at it. If at the end of the day, you're still free, and the newspaper of today isn't exactly the same as the one in the book, well, then you can throw this book away, along with the additional info I put in it. If it is, though, just keep it. You really can be rich with this book. Trust me, Buford – you won't be disappointed."
"All right, all right!" Young Buford shouted. "I'll take a look at it. Now, go!"
"Fine" Old Buford said, handing the bag with book in it to his younger self. "See you in about… fifty years."
As the older man left, Young Buford snorted. "Bet you'll probably not even be alive by then, you old bag" he sneered. Then, he headed over to his horse, put the bag in the sack next to it, and headed back to the sleeping place.
When Buford looked around, then, he noticed that everyone was still asleep. And this is how we're going to beat Eastwood? he sarcastically thought, remembering the paper in the book. He started kicking the gang in their backs. "Wake up!" he shouted. "I got me a runt to kill!"
"It's still early boss!" one of the members protested. "It's still early!" another one agreed.
Buford stared in front of himself. "I'm hungry" he muttered.
"Blood-thirsty, you mean" Alternate Marty sneered. "I can't believe how evil he is. He's almost worse than Griff… well, nobody can be worse than Griff. He's still bad. I pity the versions of Jules and Verne that had to live with him for a step dad."
"Yeah" Alternate Sarah nodded. "They probably don't exist, anymore… but you're right, I pity them, too." With that, they started floating after Buford's gang, towards Central Hill Valley.