'What's your name then, arsehole?'

His response was to spit in my face. I cuffed him a couple of times across the mouth to teach him manners, and he shut up. His wrists were so thin I could hold them together one-handed while I searched his tunic for ID.

It was while I was patting him down that I realised something was wrong - and not in the way I had been thinking before. In addition to a combat jacket several sizes too large, he had on a roll-neck sweater with a T-shirt underneath. Ignoring his squirmings I pulled these up - to reveal a narrow ribcage and a flesh-coloured sports bra hiding a pair of adolescent tits.