Bottoms Up

Nine times out of ten, I would have hopped on A64 to make the trek from Leeds to York. Car trouble led me to the train station this morning, with sales still needed to be made. I managed to find a seat that wasn’t facing backwards and sat with my arm resting on my suitcase. On a typical day, I would be traveling a little heavier in the merchandise department. I was doing some unannounced visits to pubs in York today. My boss has been climbing up my ass in small increments as he notices the glaring blank space on his map of the York area. I am pushing Flanagan Brothers Bourbon this quarter, much to my chagrin. To me, it is absolute rotgut whiskey. It burns from the moment you pop the cork to the moment that it eviscerates your esophagus and leaves you with a hangover similar to that scene in Casino where they squeeze that guy’s eyes out of his head with a vice. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

The train groaned to a stop as we rolled into Headingley, a nice little community occupied with students from the local university. The stop saw the usual comings and goings of people going about their morning routine. The majority of them appearing as if they were ending a shift or on their way to one. I turned my head to see three younger guys board the train, all of them decked out in full length Adidas track suits. Two of them appeared to be younger, maybe 13 or 14. They were both in green suits while the eldest of this slick, windbreaking clan was donning the traditional black suit. Timeless. They were the last ones to board in Headingley and they swooshed by and sat down a few rows in front of me. They reeked of menthols and were clearly arguing in an almost indiscernible West Yorkshire accent. At least for a guy from Pennsylvania.

We started to rumble on as the conductor slid the door shut and began to punch tickets. I eavesdropped as he approached this Track Suit Triad. The eldest in the black suit mumbled something in what I assumed was English to the boys in green and punched one of them square in the arm. He cursed, punched him back, and then produced some money to an annoyed and impatient conductor who punched their tickets and moved on without saying a word. He made his way through the rest of the new arrivals and slid through the door into the next car. You could hear a pin drop in my car as we passed a dreary, foggy countryside. I had my headphones in, with my head leaning on the window trying my best to pretend that I was in a 90’s music video.

My nostalgic moment was broken by the eldest lad standing in the middle of the aisle, who to my surprise was now wearing a Hollywood quality raccoon mask. The other two followed suit and stood behind him as they sloppily tossed on their matching raccoon masks over their unkempt manes. The ringleader cracked his neck and fitted on a pair of shiny brass knuckles as his goons had empty laundry sacks thrown over their backs, looking like a demented Christmas card photo. The two kids sprinted towards the back of the car as the one in black stood his ground and shouted,

“Alright you miserable twats, wallets and mobiles in the fucking bags now!”

The two worked their way from the back to the front, filling their sacks with wallets, phones, and anything else that appeared to be of any value. I began to sweat a bit as they got closer, but the train car remained relatively calm given the situation in progress. Perhaps it was the appearance of these goons, but none of them had the aura of a seasoned, professional criminal. It would be a safe bet that if successful, the three of them would be spending their bounty on soda, cigarettes, video games and then returning to their room at Mum’s house to beat their rotten little peckers. They were only a few rows away now when the youngest grabbed the blouse of an older woman. That was a moment where I could not sit idly by any longer, I had to say something.

“Hey guys, come take a seat.”

These words echoed through the hollow cylinder of the train car and these boys did not know how to react. All three of them, shitting their pants in their obvious haphazard heist froze in their tracks and fixed their gazes upon me. One of them even pulled up their mask enough to reveal heaving, nervous lips and eyes that begged me to let them carry on with their plan.

“Gentleman, take a seat.”

The leader of these lovable losers dragged his brass knuckles on the tops of the seats as he dragged his feet towards me and sat down across from me. He took the seat that I purposely did not take. The dreaded seat that faces backwards and makes the incoming landscape feel like a hungover nightmare. Speaking of the landscape, it was slowing down. We were pulling into a stop and the boys were clearly not prepared to make their getaway.

“The fucking bollocks on you Yank.”

“Tell your friends to take a seat.”

“Oi, lads! This Yank fancies himself a hero!”

The other two crammed in on either side of me as the train groaned to a stop. One of them had enough brain activity to mumble that the conductor was again making his rounds and about to enter our car again. At least that’s what I assumed he said, because all three of them took of their raccoon masks with a sense of urgency. The annoyed conductor walked in and began to make his rounds. He unenthusiastically punched the tickets of new passengers and made sure no one had jumped on midway for a free ride.

“Listen Yank,” he had enough sense to whisper as the conductor was still punching tickets.

“No boys, you need to listen to me.”

I looked around to make sure that my stern statement did not arouse any unwanted attention. In a deliberate whisper, I repeated,

“You boys need to listen to me.”

“And why’s that Yank? What’s stopping me from taking these brass knuckles and knocking your teeth out?”

“Because you don’t want to do that.”

“You must be having a laugh mate. How would you know what I do or do not want to do?”

“You don’t want to add assault with a deadly weapon on top of a train robbery, do you?”

“Listen here you twat. What’s going to happen is that as soon as the conductor makes his way out of here, me and the lads here are going to be on our merry way.”

I said nothing and set my suitcase on my lap and unlatched it. The sidekicks were visibly nervous and one of them reached for a knife he had on his hip. I raised my hands to show that I meant no harm. Slowly reaching into the suitcase, I produced a tiny bottle of Flanagan’s. Pulling the cork out produced an aroma that reminded of oak barrel aged gasoline. The fire reached my nostrils and it took everything in my power to not quiver in disgust. I took a massive swig and then forced out,

“Mmmm that is some good stuff! You boys want a taste?”

The three of them looked at each other in confusion. One of them set down his mask and went to reach for the bottle.

“Oi what the fuck are you doing? We’re in the middle of something here.”

He took the bottle anyways and pointed to the conductor who was still making his rounds.

“Relax Gavin, ticket man ain’t even leave the car yet.”

The leader, who apparently was Gavin, slapped his friend upside the head while he was sampling the bourbon.

“What did I say about using my name?”

“Sorry Gav…Sorry mate.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“Listen to your friend’s Gavin,” I said. I opened a second bottle and started to pass it around. “The conductor is still going to be a couple minutes, why not relax with a drink?”

Gavin eventually gave in and started to drink with the rest of us. They were all teenagers and did not know any better so I kept reminding them how this is the best bourbon on the market and repeating things like, “Good stuff, right?” The three of them loosened up enough to start sharing stories with me. They regaled me with various tales of debauchery and petty crimes and instances of them having sex with girls that most likely did not occur. I played along, setting them at ease and laughing at all the right points and asking questions that someone who would be very interested would ask. They were all talking over each other at this point while I planned my next move. I was debating a Three Stooges type maneuver where I would grab the two heads on either end and bash them against the one in the middle, rendering all three unconscious. The likelihood of that happening was probably slim. I was sort of hoping that they would get so drunk that they would end up fighting each other and forgetting about their bounty. I was able to drift the conversation to the tired topic of in the states we say this but here you guys say that, and they took the bait. They hollered at my accent for a while and I even dug deep and did my attempt at a Yorkshire accent which they ate up. Their drunkenness blinded them to the fact they were essentially screaming at this point.

“Everything alright over here?”

“Yes, sorry about that we will keep it down. Did you know that in the states we say aloom-a-num and you guys say al-you-min-e-um?”

The conductor was unimpressed. He paused for a few seconds and told us to keep it down. He left the car shortly and we carried on with the wonders of how one country would say biscuits and the other would say cookies.

“You boys should have seen the look on this guy’s face when I asked for a biscuit with my fried chicken! He probably thought that I was high as a kite!”

One of them shuddered without even taking a sip as I opened up a third sample bottle. My stomach quivered as well when the fumes invaded my senses again. I let out a mighty exhale through my nostrils and valiantly tilted my head back and took a big swig. That had to be my last sip or I was going to be done. My stomach was in knots and my cheeks were on fire. I passed it to Gavin, who did not want his masculinity challenged and also gulped down the bourbon flavored gasoline. I decided to take the conversation down an entirely different route when I presented them the idea of me keeping my mouth shut and walking off with them at the next stop. My price, I told them, was a fourth of the cash from the wallets and purses. Then I would disappear.

Gavin hiccupped, leaned forward and said,

“And what if we don’t?”

“Well Gavin, we would then have a different, and rather difficult conversation. I wouldn’t recommend going that route.”

They said nothing and the three of them downed the third bottle. For my grand finale, which was certain to send these idiots over the edge was a novelty drink that sold well in the states, but not so much in the UK. Peanut butter whiskey.

The other two started to nod off, and Gavin struggled to hold on to his escaping consciousness. Gavin loudly exhaled through his nose as he glanced at the zooming countryside and quickly closed his eyes. I feigned a big gulp from the bottle and handed it to Gavin as the train screeched as it slowed down. We were entering York. Between the shuddering of the train and his level of intoxication, Gavin struggled to grab the bottle that I handed to him. He looked at it with a mild sense of horror and then back at me. “Bottoms up,” I said as I winked. A shiver ran through his entire body, then he tilted his head back and downed half the bottle to my amazement. He handed it back and I latched it back into the suitcase. He was not long for this world.

The station was pulling into view as the landscape started to slow down. Spinning blue lights flooded the windows, just enough stimulation to shock Gavin back into reality. He shook his certain future cellmates in an attempt to flee, but nothing short of an earthquake was going to wake them at the moment. In a moment of panic, he decided to leave his comatose partners behind and take off with the loot. With all three bags wrapped up in his hand, he began a sprint down the aisle only to fall backwards on top of his stolen goods. I had snatched one of the bags as he made a run for it.

I held a finger to my mouth, showing him that he should not speak. I wrestled a bag away from Gavin as he took off to the back of the car, frantically opening the door to the next car trying to find an escape route. He disappeared out the back as police donned with yellow jackets entered the car. Every single passenger pointed to the direction of Gavin as they zoomed down the aisle, passing myself and Gavin’s incapacitated partners. I grabbed my suitcase, threw the bag of stolen goods over my shoulder, and exited the train. Police flooded the train behind me, eyes on the lookout for a track suit triad.

I was certainly drunk at this point, but experienced enough at drinking that I did not pass out on a train mid-robbery. I took a deep breath and began to walk down the streets of York. No wonder why we never sold here, this place was far too charming to be drinking the swill that I was carrying. The foreboding York Minster peaked through the foggy mist as I turned and smiled at the three teenagers being dragged out of the train. With the sack draped over my shoulder, I whistled a tune down the street, looking for the next pub. After the morning I had, some bar proprietor was certain to have enough sympathy to agree to carry Flanagan’s. At least I hoped so.