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MY INTERNATIONAL HUMAN RIGHTS LAWYER

As the second date of my new trial approached, I apologised to Rusty for not having told him about the new charges and we made up.

‘If we're in this together, Thomas,’ he said, ‘then I need you to be completely honest with me. OK? No secrets.’

I agreed, except for the part that we were in it together. He was there voluntarily, so he could go home whenever he wanted; I was the one who would do the time. Also, I didn't let him know about my plan to bribe the judges. There was no need to tell him about that just yet, because I hadn't raised enough money yet from my envelope scam. I could sense that Rusty was worried about me, but I knew better than to ask him for bribe money. Besides, I'd thought of another way he could help me, which didn't involve money, and he agreed to it.

That evening, I gave him my briefcase — the one I'd had at the airport with all my fruit juice company documents. He emptied it out while I made us dinner. When I turned around, I saw that he was probing around the bottom for secret compartments.

‘Hey, man,’ I said, astonished that Rusty could suspect me after staying with me for so many weeks. ‘There are no drugs in there.’

But he was only joking. ‘Hey man, you never know,’ he said, copying the way I spoke. ‘This is Bolivia, man. You have to be careful.’

For my next court appearance, Rusty was waiting for me outside the court. He had purchased a cheap suit and tie and some shiny black shoes. With his hair tied back in a ponytail and my briefcase in hand, he almost looked like a proper lawyer. He sat on one side of me and Manuelo, my legal-aid lawyer, sat on the other. The Velascos sat on the