Shielded in Met. blue I shoulder my silver numbers: a Papa-Lima protector on south-east London streets. Riding shotgun and fueled by adolescent adrenaline, I scan the A-to-Z grids for grateful victims, and bury my delinquent doubt beneath the cool blue strobe. - I'm a juvenile constable, thoughtlessly abandoned to law's sanction to bully, to bruise, and perhaps to scar for good.