“Do I know you?” Archie asked. 

“We met before, back in our past lives. I’m Whitey,” Greg said. 

“No shit. Did anyone ever tell you that you were an awkward fucking kid? Jesus, you look like hillbilly Slenderman,” Archie said. 

“I reckon I aged like wine,” Greg said. “More distinguished with age and all that.”

“Whitey?” Thomas asked. 

“On account of the fact that I’m a white dude, see,” Greg explained. 

“Lotta organized crime is broken up along ethnic lines,” Archie continued, reading the annoyed look on Thomas’s face. “Italians work with Italians, Haitians with Haitians, Cubans with Cubans, so on and so forth. Whitey here wasn’t particular about the race of his employers, so long as they had work, so he spent a lot of time getting called ‘white boy.’ Turned into Whitey over time.”

“You sound like you knew him pretty well,” Thomas said. 

“Mostly by rep. Whitey liked to buy burner guns from me, but we mostly ran in different circles,” Archie said. 

“Burner guns?”

“Like burner phones, but a little more literal,” Greg said. “Mostly 3D printed stuff, rifles and pistols and the like. You do the job, then light it on fire. The plastic burns up and deletes all the usable forensic evidence. No serial number to trace, no purchase records, none o’ that shit.”

“Oh. Ghost guns. Got it,” Thomas said. 

“Not quite the same thing,” Archie said, wincing. “Technically speaking, a ‘ghost gun’ is just a gun that can’t be traced back to a 4473. Doesn’t even have to have the serial numbers removed. The ATF liked to conflate the two to make 3D and homebuilt guns seem like a bigger problem than they actually were. Most 3D printed guns were made by nerds in their basements so they could claim they were fighting the system or whatever.”

“Took a real pro to get ‘em to run right,” Greg said. “I never had the knack for it myself.”

“I guess that’ll make our job a whole hell of a lot easier,” Thomas said. “Do we have 3D printers yet in this timeline?”

“If not, I can build one,” Archie said. “Might need some help with the programming, but the actual machining isn’t that hard if I have the tools.”

“Speaking of tools, there’s a bag for you in the back seat,” Greg said. “Put together a little care package on the way down.”

Curious, Archie made his way to the back of the van. It was easier said than done. The roads around Wentworth had a nasty tendency towards sharp curves. He squealed with delight once he saw the contents. 

“Whitey! You beautiful son of a bitch! I take back the last three mean things I said about you,” Archie exclaimed, pulling out a set of trousers. 

“I had to guess on the sizes,” Greg said. 

“Hey, anything’s better than a fucking dress,” Archie said. 

Before Thomas or Greg had a chance to protest, Archie shucked out of the dress. They fixed their eyes on the road and kept them there. 

“Where the hell’d you find a packer?” Archie asked, holding up a box so it could be seen in the rearview mirror. The image on the box showed an artificial penis, mostly flaccid, complete with testicles and a waistband to hold it in place. 

“You’d be amazed at what you can find in truck stops,” Greg said sheepishly. “Didn’t know if it was strictly necessary, but I remember how awful I felt the first couple of hours in this body. Felt like a stranger, you know? Couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to go through life like that. Thought it might help you feel more at home.”

“It’s not quite as good as having my own pecker, but it’ll do in a pinch,” Archie said. “Seriously, my dude, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Greg said. “Seriously, don’t. About died of embarrassment picking it up.”

“Fair enough, fair enough. What’s with the Ace bandage?” Archie asked. 

“Don’t know the first thing about binders, but I’ve heard you can wrap ‘em up and it’ll work just about as well, at least for a bit,” Greg replied. 

“Oh shit. It’s been so long since I had tits, I forgot all about that part,” Archie said. “Give a guy a hand?”

Greg turned to Thomas, his expression stricken. 

“Don’t look at me,” Thomas said, smirking. “I’m driving.”

At several points throughout the process, Greg wondered if it was possible to die from acute embarrassment. Greg was, nominally at least, a heterosexual man, and Archie’s pre-transition body was biologically close to his body’s age. 

Awkward didn’t begin to describe it, at least from his perspective. 

“You realize this means you’re at least a little gay, right?” Archie asked. 

Trying to get the bandages in place was easier said than done, especially on the road, and Archie kept slipping out of the bandage. Having boobs flopping around in his face didn’t do any favors for Greg’s disposition. His face was so red, he thought his ears might catch on fire.

“Cut that shit out,” Greg scolded. “See if I do you a favor again.”

“Ah, hell. Sorry man, I’m just playing around,” Archie said. “I really am grateful. Maybe a little manic, if we’re being honest. First time in days I haven’t felt dysphoric as shit. I’d be happy to pay you back, say, over dinner?”

“While I appreciate the offer, I’ll have to pass,” Greg mumbled. “I’ve only ever been with one woman, and I kinda want to keep it that way.”

“Good thing I’m not a woman then,” Archie replied, wagging his eyebrows. “I can learn you a thing or two you’d never know, playing with the opposite gender.” 

“Oh, hush. You know what I mean,” Greg said. “Loretta’s the only one for me, at least until she gets the chance to tell me otherwise.”

“Don’t forget, I’m still up here, and I don’t wanna hear any of that shit,” Thomas called from the front.

“Spoilsport!” Archie whined, but he dropped the matter, much to Greg’s relief. 

After what felt like an eternity, the pair managed to get Archie comfortable. He looked more like a 12-year-old boy than an 18-year-old woman, but there was nothing they could do about that, not without a doctor and hormone replacement therapy. For the moment, though, he was happy, and that was good enough.