good working relationship

She was pretty sure one of us
wasn't a detective. How do you
figure that? I asked. Powers 
of observation, she quipped 
back. She had a face like 
an angle of light, and a body
like East Berlin. Whenever
she wasn't trouble, he knew
it. She made a big show 
of wearing clothes. Perhaps 
to make up for the other times.
She always had a case, but 
the business end was all wrong.
Didn't want it solved. Wouldn't
say what it was. The details 
rang out empty like a wrung-out
rag that hadn't seen water since
July, and with her, it was always
July. Miss July, they called her
and they weren't wrong. It was 
her last name. Mine was Destiny. 
Used to catch a hell of a lot
of kidding over that, but hell 
I was a kid. Kids can be mean, 
and I was the meanest. I grew up 
nice, but some streaks never
go away no matter how much
you scrub, or soak in bleach. 
When she walked in I was 
scrubbing and soaking as usual.
I gave her a nice smile. Should
I come back later? she queried, 
unsure? Sure, I said. She always
did.