AGAINST THE ODDS:AS HE eased the 31 into the terminus at Howth Summit on Sunday night, Vinny Fitzpatrick reflected, not for the first time, that the working hours of a Dublin Bus employee were not always sociable.

He knew where he would much rather be at this time of the evening, but not even Vinny, a past master of shifting his roster around, could continuously avoid the Sunday graveyard shift.

Still, he’d have the bus back in Clontarf Garage by midnight and would be home 15 minutes later, where four cans of chilled stout were waiting for him.

Approaching the summit, Vinny’s bus had been eerily empty, but that would change on the way down, he knew.

As Howth Head was a barren landscape for taxis, the last bus off the hill was the only contact for the regulars of the Summit Inn pub, with the bright lights of Sutton, Kilbarrack and Raheny below.

Soon, they would spill out of the pub and pour onto Vinny’s chariot for a ride home. There would be a lot of noise, probably smoking of some sort down the back, and the odds against a vomit or two were not encouraging.

Some of the more hollow-legged party-goers might even continue their carousing all the way to the city centre.

“Oh, to be young again,” thought Vinny as he sat in his cab, poring over the football tables and noting glumly that Everton, having lost 2-1 to Fulham that afternoon, were still second from bottom of the Premier League.

By 11pm the first of the revellers were at the bus stop. Within a minute or two the numbers had swollen to around 20.

Already, Vinny knew he was going to be busy. “There must have been a gig,” he thought, as he opened the door to avoid a late crush.

As the passengers spilled on and the bus filled up, Vinny did his best to ensure no one slipped on without paying. Most of the fares were €1.15 or €1.60, which were short hops, but a few stumped up the €2.20 for the trek into town.

Vinny was due to pull away at 11.10pm, but he waited a minute or two in the knowledge that there was no other easy way off the hill.

It was then that he saw them. As he closed the doors and checked his wing mirrors, he caught a glimpse of three shadows emerging from the side of the Summit Inn.

They crossed the road directly in front of the bus. One of them stumbled and fell. The other two raised their arms, signalled for the bus to stop, and beckoned for Vinny to come over.

As a concerned Vinny opened his cabin door and alighted from the bus – which was in breach of company regulations, but this was an emergency – he had a look at the lads: one was half-sitting on the ground, the other two standing over him.

Unlike the crowd from the pub, they weren’t dressed for a night out. Instead, they wore jeans and hoodies, and looked a littler older and rougher then the usual crowd.

A little warning light went off in Vinny’s brain, but the goodness in him took over. He smiled. “Lads, you were cutting it fine. Is your friend alright?”

The guy on the ground slowly stood up; he was lanky and a hood covered most of his face. His companions, one a tall skinhead, the other short with dark hair, were breathing hard.

“He’s grand. Now, can we get a lift out of here?” snapped the taller skinhead.

What happened next was a blur for Vinny. He recalled stepping back on the bus and had opened the door to the driver’s cabin when suddenly he felt a wiry arm coil around his neck.

The next thing he knew, he was on his knees in a headlock and could feel something sharp pressing against his side. He heard a voice, which he took to be Skinhead’s, cry out. “Listen up. Any messing and we’re letting air out of Mr Blobby’s spare tyre. Do I make myself clear?”

There was silence in the bus, except for a sobbing from somewhere down the back.

“Alright, hand over your mobiles and empty your pockets. You’ve got 30 seconds or fatso here gets harpooned. Lads, do the upstairs first,” bellowed Skinhead.

While Vinny’s head was being held down, he could see the lower part of the stairs and spied two pairs of legs scooting up, one clearly holding a switchblade knife.

Vinny heard a scream, some shouting; then there was silence. After what seemed an age but was probably no more than a minute or two, he heard steps on the stairs again.

Again, Skinhead barked out the orders. “Right. Clean this lot out and let’s get the hell out of here.”

While the point of what Vinny took to be a knife was still pressing against his lower belly, Vinny could now see down the length of the bus, could see the knives brandished in the faces of the scared passengers by Skinhead’s snarling associates.

These were Vinny’s passengers, and it was his duty to get them to their destination safe and sound. From within, Vinny could feel his blood boil.

He watched, appalled, as glinting blades were thrust at terrified faces, while mobiles were shoved into the bulging front pouch of the hoodies and cash stuffed into pockets. Vinny knew he had to do something, but what?

Soon, the two hoodies had done their terrible deed and were scampering back down the aisle. As they jumped off, Vinny felt the point of the knife ease from his side and the grip on his head and shoulder relax. Skinhead was about to jump ship: this was the moment.

Instantly, Vinny swung out his right arm with as much power as he could muster, catching Skinhead across the shins. As Skinhead tumbled towards the steps, Vinny spun around and pinned him down by his knees.

Skinhead screamed and lunged back with the knife, but the force was with Vinny’s 17st frame. He chopped the side of his meaty paw hard across the back of Skinhead’s neck and felt the assailant go limp under him, the knife dropping to the floor.

Reaching up, he swiftly locked the doors from the inside just as the two hoodies were trying to get back on board. They cursed, banged and kicked at the doors but couldn’t get in.

As Vinny got gingerly to his feet, he called out. “I need volunteers to keep on eye on Sleeping Beauty here, just in case he wakes up.”

With that, he gunned the bus downhill in the direction of Clontarf Garda Station. For the next 15 minutes, no one was getting on, or off.

Bets of the Week

2pts Cork (-1 pt) to beat Kerry in All-Ireland SFC (11/8, Paddy Power)

1pt An Italian team to win Champions League (6/1, Stan James)

Vinny's Bismarck

Lay Soren Hansen to win Austrian Open (7/1, general, liability 7pts)