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47
MONEY WORRIES

As soon as he came back into the prison the following morning, Rusty knew that something had happened. Usually, he sent a taxista ahead so that I could come and meet him at the gate once he had got past the security check. This time, I didn't meet him. He let himself into my room using the key I had given him, which had belonged to Ricardo.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked with concern, when he turned on the light and saw that I was still lying in bed. Then his tone changed when he noticed all the used tissues on my bedside table: ‘Have you been up sniffing all night with Roberto again?’

I still didn't want to tell him about my case, even though I des-perately needed money to fund my defence. I knew he wasn't rich. Besides, it was my responsibility to fix my own problems.

‘No. I’m just tired, man,’ I said, sitting up. ‘I think I’ve got a cold.’

I was happy that Rusty was there with me, but not being able to tell him about what had happened with the Velascos made things very difficult. He didn't understand why I was in a bad mood. I also got sick very easily because I was so stressed, but he thought it was because I was taking cocaine. We had our first disagreement the following day when I asked for some money to buy cigarettes from the shop. He hadn't minded giving me money on previous occasions, but this time he refused, saying, ‘I’m not a millionaire, you know.’

‘Hey, man. A whole packet of cigarettes costs less than one dollar.’
‘Well, if they’re so cheap, why don’t you pay for them yourself?’
‘But Rusty, you’ve got to help me out here. I’m in prison.’

Rusty raised his voice at me for the first time. ‘Thomas, I don’t mind helping you out with your food and medicine. But I’m not here to pay