Chapter One – Trans Mission

November 1993

Standing 6’4” tall, strongly built, with an immaculately made-up face and wearing an electric blue flared trouser-suit, Petra attracted attention and admiring glances from several men as she stepped out of Our Pink Life, a nightclub in Old Compton Street, into the bracing November air.

She was arm-in-arm with a tall, strikingly handsome man she’d just met. His name was Robert, and he was blessed with an athletic physique, short, dark-brown hair, deep, emerald green eyes and a dazzling white smile. She thought he looked stunning in his torn jeans, blue and white striped shirt and light blue casual jacket.

The road was, as usual for Soho at 2.30 on a Saturday morning, heaving with hundreds of late-night revellers, some moving in time to The Pet Shop Boys, blaring out from the doorway of another club. The spectre of Aids still haunted the minds of the ignorant and the bigoted, turning them vehemently against gay and trans people whom they saw as perverted and dangerous to so-called normal people. But their prejudices had failed to prevent the gay community going out to enjoy themselves and there was nowhere they felt more at home, nowhere they felt more safe and secure, than in Soho, where they enjoyed the company of hundreds of like-minded souls.

Petra and her new friend turned left, intending to make their way up Greek Street to Bateman Street, where Petra rented a basement studio flat. As they picked their way through the crowds, she felt waves of excitement and anticipation, the potential of enjoying a night of sex with this delicious man thrilled her. Like the rest, Petra felt at home on these streets, she felt alive; for once, her life was going well, and she intended to thoroughly enjoy it while it lasted. She threw back her head and sang along with the music.

Turning left into Greek Street, Petra spotted a man with buzz-cut light-brown hair and a designer beard making his way through the crowds towards them and her heart sank. He was smartly dressed, in sharply creased dark-blue trousers, light-blue shirt with no tie, shiny black shoes and an expensive looking three-quarter length navy-blue overcoat; he looked distinctly out of place on the Soho street. She was about to turn away and attempt to conceal her identity, when he looked directly at her and their eyes locked. It was Tony Waters, her supervisor at Duke’s Garage, where she worked as a mechanic in Sevenoaks, Kent.

Tony knew Petra as Peter Hardy, a 21-year-old man who had been employed by the firm for just three months. It was his first job as a fully qualified mechanic, having successfully completed his apprenticeship with a different garage the previous July. Tony stopped in his tracks and stared at Petra in disbelief. He couldn’t fully take in what he was seeing, then slowly but surely, a cruel smile swept across his face and he swerved to block their path, preventing Robert and Petra from walking any further. Tony wasn’t a big man and the couple dwarfed him, but he looked up at Petra with a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

‘Evening Pete, aren’t you going to introduce me to your fella?’

Petra was horrified; she really didn’t need this on a night out. She’d been tormented by people like Tony Waters her whole life but hadn’t expected to encounter him in the very place where she felt safe, felt at home. Ignoring his request, she towered over him, glaring down at him with contempt.

Robert turned to face her. ‘Who is this Petra? What’s going on?’

Looking back at Robert, Petra remained stubbornly silent. She slowly shook her head then returned her gaze to Tony who had patently been drinking; his breath smelt of whisky and his words were slurred.

‘Well fuck me, Petra is it? I’d worked out that you were a shirt-lifter Pete, but I’d never have guessed you were a tranny too!’

On hearing this, Robert released Petra’s grip from his arm.

‘Who is this, Petra? Look, I’m sorry darling, but I don’t want any trouble, I’m going home.’

Petra held on to his arm.

‘Please don’t go Rob, he’s just being a dick.’

Tony laughed and jabbed a finger into Robert’s face.

‘Tell you what mate, a dick’s exactly what you’d have got once Pete got you home, right up your arse.’

Shaking his head in disgust, Robert yanked his arm from Petra’s grasp, walked swiftly away through the crowds and was soon lost to her sight. She turned on Tony, a familiar anger burning through her, an anger she’d experienced again and again throughout her life; but until now she hadn’t done anything about it.

Tony and the company boss, Des Thayer, had continually ribbed and bullied Peter at work from the day he arrived, calling him vile names like shit-stabber, cock-sucker, fudge packer. Peter had bitten his lip and taken the abuse for weeks, his hatred for them slowly building, to the point where he found himself imagining scenarios where he had them at his mercy, torturing them and making them suffer, just as he was suffering now. Years of pent up hurt and anger simmered just below the surface; he’d always managed to keep his feelings under control, but now he was like a volcano about to explode. Whenever he tried moving forward to the next section of his life, bigotry, hatred, and prejudice were following not far behind and right now, he’d had enough.

Glaring with fury, Petra said, ‘Thanks for fucking up my night. Why do you hate me Tony, what have I ever done to you?’

Tony threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’ve not done anything, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take the piss though. We work together and that’s fine… but you’re a poof and I don’t like poofs; I’ve just saved that poor fucker from a fate worse than death.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t get it, do you? You’re not normal, you’re a fucking pervert. What you do, it’s… disgusting!’ He practically spat the words at her.

‘Why am I disgusting? Because you don’t like the way I look, or the way I choose to live my life? Sorry Tony, if you don’t like it, that’s tough.’

‘I’ll tell you why it’s disgusting. How do you think he’d have felt once he discovered you’re a bloke?’

Shrieking with laughter, Petra said, ‘You really are a dinosaur, aren’t you? For fuck’s sake Tony, he likes men… he fancies men… he’s gay! He knew exactly what he was getting himself into and you’ve just ruined a good shag for both of us.’

Tony looked momentarily confused, then shrugged, and pouted mockingly.

‘Oh boo-hoo, I’m really upset.’

‘It’s not funny, you moron.’

Suddenly Tony’s voice took on an angry edge.

‘Serves you fucking right. You disgust me! I can’t wait to tell the lads in the garage on Monday that I’ve seen you dressed like a tart, they’ll make your life hell.’

A lifetime of abuse and mickey-taking had risen like scum to the surface; Petra was in danger of losing control right there and then. Ever since childhood, Peter Hardy had felt uncomfortable in his own body, sensing that inside his increasingly obvious masculine skin lived a girl, so on reaching adulthood Peter created a female alter-ego and gave her the name Petra, an alter-ego which nobody knew about where she lived in Kent.

But now Petra had been exposed; one of her work colleagues had seen her enjoying life as a woman, the cat was out of the bag, and was bound to cause her untold misery. She had to find a way to persuade Tony that, although she was transgender, she was a decent person, just living a different life to his. If she didn’t manage to convince him, he could ruin her life yet again, just like so many others had before.

Her voice shook. ‘Please don’t tell anyone Tony, I’m begging you.’

‘Fuck off! I’ll be dining out on this for weeks. They’ll love it at the club.’

‘What club?’

He jabbed a finger in her face.

‘A club that would never let in people like you.’

‘Please… please don’t tell anyone.’

Tony was a poseur and owned a ‘Simon’ mobile phone, something only very few people possessed. Pulling it from a coat pocket he said, ‘I’ve got to tell the boys at work. It’ll whet their appetite for Monday morning.’

Snatching Tony’s phone before he could make the call, Petra pushed the sizeable object down the front of her dress. Her anger boiling over, she hissed, ‘You’re not telling anyone about me you nasty fucker.’

‘Give me my fucking phone, Pete!’ He reached towards her chest to retrieve it.

Grabbing his hand, she almost crushed it in her powerful grip, causing him to groan in pain, before easily pushing him away. Tony knew she was far stronger than he was.

‘For fuck’s sake Pete, don’t be a twat!’

An idea was forming in Petra’s head. She’d taken enough of this shit from the likes of Tony Waters and it was time to stand up for herself. She recalled that a leaflet had been pushed through the door of her flat from the local council; CCTV was being upgraded and would not be operating from midday on Friday until midday on Saturday in the streets between Old Compton Street and the top end of Soho Square, which almost certainly meant their meeting wasn’t being recorded on the system. There was a chance that private cameras might catch glimpses of them, but that was a risk she had to take.

She stepped forward and looked down into Tony’s eyes from only a couple of inches away.

‘Just give me a few minutes to explain why I’m like I am, then I’ll return your phone, I promise.’

‘Don’t be a prick Pete, I need to go home.’ He sounded a lot less confident now and Petra shook her head.

‘The first trains don’t leave until after five, so you’ve got at least a couple of hours to fill before heading for Victoria.’

Indignation at having lost possession of his phone registered plainly on Tony’s face.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I won’t call anyone and I promise I’ll listen to whatever you’ve got to say, just give me my fucking phone back.’

Petra was silent for a few moments, considering her options, then removed the phone from her cleavage, switching it off before handing it back. She glowered menacingly.

‘Put it in your coat and leave it there. If you so much as touch it before you’ve let me explain things, I’ll smash it.’

Tony was shaken by the naked aggression in her voice and slipped the phone into his coat pocket. Then, relieved that his precious mobile was safe, some of his cocky arrogance returned.

‘You’re not going to convince me that lady-boys are normal, but as you say, I’ve got a couple of hours to kill, so knock yourself out. This might even be amusing.’

Petra felt a mixture of revulsion for the pathetic little man standing in front of her, and relief that he seemed to be willing to fall in with her plan.

‘Right, follow me.’

A troubled expression appeared on Tony’s face.

‘Hang on a minute. I’m not being seen out drinking with you, people will think I’m bent!’

Petra rolled her eyes and said, ‘Stop worrying, I’ve got a studio flat just around the corner.’

‘You’ve got what?’

‘A studio flat. I’ll make you a coffee. You smell like a brewery so you could probably do with something to sober you up. Don’t worry, your precious heterosexual reputation is safe. We’ll be well away from prying eyes.’

Tony looked astounded.

‘How the fuck can a young knob jockey like you afford a flat in Soho?’

She ignored the insult, needing to keep her powder dry.

‘I don’t own it, I rent it.’

‘It must cost a fortune.’

Petra shrugged.

‘My gran left me some money in her will and I decided to spend it on renting a place where I spend most of my weekends. Come on, it’s just around the corner.’

She could see he still had doubts but her loathing of him was almost choking her; she simply had to persuade him against speaking out.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake! Look, I’ll walk on this side of the road, you walk on the other. We’ll be yards apart with dozens of people and a line of vehicles between us. That okay?’

Pulling the collar of his coat around his neck against the cold, Tony nodded and followed Petra’s lead, his head lowered to avoid anyone’s gaze. Greek Street is one-way and a queue of vehicles were heading down towards Old Compton Street and Shaftesbury Avenue. Dozens of people were in the street, on the pavements, spilling onto the roadway and dodging between the cars. It was noisy, vibrant, alive; it was a multi-cultural, multi-racial and multi-sexual place; it was the place Petra loved.

They walked in parallel but yards apart on opposite sides of the street. She lost sight of him once through the crowds, but he reappeared, keeping his side of the bargain. Petra reached Bateman Street a few seconds before Tony, and waited outside the tattoo shop which sat above her flat.

Twenty seconds later she was leading him down a flight of black painted iron steps to her basement flat front door. She removed a key from her leopard-print handbag, inserted it into the lock and swung open the door. After reaching inside to turn the light on, she held out her arm, allowing Tony to enter first, before following him inside and closing the door softly behind her.

Trans Mission – Evan Baldock

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Category: Fiction, Thriller/Crime