Memories Of You by Bobbie Cole

returned the gun to where he’d had it. “I have permits.”
    Charlie and Seth exchanged surprised looks. The small, unobtrusive man who’d been driving them carried a firearm that looked as if it could put a basketball-sized hole in a tank.
    “Where did you find him?” she asked quietly from the corner of her mouth, settling her Glock back into its holster.
    Seth never took his eyes from their chauffer but shrugged. “Phonebook?”
    “I thought it was impossible to get one of those,” Charlie ventured, speaking to their driver.
    He grinned. “Not if you have the right lawyer. The size of the pistola is what can be questionable, but I belong to a sportsman’s club, so I have permission to carry this one and my escopetas … You say shotguns.”
    “Ah.” She returned his smile, unnerved but unwilling to let him know. Yeah, the guy would be able to take care of himself and their car.
    He stopped the sedan before a sickly-looking pink building that said Dispensario and announced that they were at the free clinic. Barefoot children ran, laughing, back and forth in front of the building, cocking their fingers like guns and pulling imaginary triggers. Shoving and pushing one another playfully until they spotted the adults sitting in the car.
    Charlie popped Seth lightly on the leg, encouraging him to exit so she could get out. The sooner they completed their business in this part of the city the better, especially since it would soon be dark. The atmosphere was ominous enough with the impending thunderstorms. She’d heard the sky rumbling off and on for several minutes, and the swirling clouds overhead indicated a major storm, unless she missed her guess.
    On their way from the car to the medical facility, fat raindrops fell on them and splattered near their feet. Charlie shook her hair once inside the door and shivered. Between the weather and that driver holding a gun that could fell a buffalo, she had gooseflesh. She rubbed her arms to take away some of the chill.
    Seth chuckled. “Never underestimate the quiet ones. He’s probably got shoulder-fired rocket launchers, grenades and Belgian assault rifles in his car trunk.”
    Charlie lifted an eyebrow. “You are definitely a Fed. I have yet to see you fingering fabrics or playing with a color chart, so the idea that you may be an interior decorator is moot.”
    He opened the door for her. “Thank God. If it takes me several months to figure out I don’t have denim in the house, imagine how lousy I’d be at coordinating anything else.”
    The inside of the building was even worse than the outside, with pockets of flooring ripped up and dirt where cement or boards should be. Charlie would be surprised if there was running water or electricity. The only thing she took comfort in was that there didn’t appear to be pestilence. Whoever cared for the building seemed to have made certain that as many precautions as possible had been taken to ensure the best health care for those who showed up, despite the impoverished conditions.
    They walked in the general direction of voices that could be heard echoing down the empty corridors. The building seemed to be an abandoned school because there were small chairs and tables here and there, stacked in corners of empty rooms. Dusty bookcases stood sentry just within rooms where doors had once hung on hinges but where now only bolts jutted from broken, jagged frames.
    She sniffed indelicately, her nostrils smelling and tongue tasting a weird mixture of antiseptic and old, cold dirt.
    Seth touched her arm and pointed at an open door. Beyond the entrance, in a room lit only by natural light through dirty windows, was a man in a white lab coat and three people who looked to be a mother and two children, both boys.
    Out of respect for the mother, Charlie held up a hand, silently requesting Seth to wait before entering. They waited, watching, as the doctor finished his examination and in hushed tones gave the woman verbal