Ken crumpled the coffee cup he’d been holding in his long fingers. He inhaled, then exhaled, then inhaled again. Without looking up he said to the air, “Really? I thought we were done?”

It was late, and Ken was mostly alone in the bullpen. He’d spent the day at court and was trying to get some paperwork done before going home. The two suspects they’d raided last month had gotten off light – they pled not-guilty but got acquitted of everything except misdemeanor theft charges. When the rubber hit the road, apparently ‘priceless’ really did just mean ‘cheap.’ The DA had charged them with felony robbery, misuse of government property, trespassing, you name it. But the jury let them off, and the judge gave them community service and probation. The university probably wasn’t even going to suspend the two.

At least the bodycam footage meant that no one got fired, no matter how heated the protests had gotten.

Still though, between getting assigned to basic patrol duty and riot response, Ken hadn’t had a chance to do any of his real work. Johnston had even been permanently transferred to Bay View. The chief said they just didn’t need all the manpower for property crimes, but Ken knew that the protests were putting pressure on the department – Kline was still stuck working the evidence room. Now that the trial was over things ought to be quieting down.

So why the hell had Nishimura just messaged him to come to the chief’s office now?

With a groan, Ken stood up and stretched. He dropped the Styrofoam cup into his wastebasket and shrugged into the grey jacket that had been hanging on his desk chair. Then he ran his hands over his scalp, making sure what was left of his hair was at least flat on his head, and headed towards the chief’s office.

The chief’s office was at the far end of the station, clustered with a bunch of other admin spaces. It had been placed as far from intake and the bullpen as was realistically possible. Despite the distance, the area still smelled of sweat, cleaning chemicals, and other less identifiable fluids. But during the noisier parts of the day, this side of the station was at least quieter.

Instead of heading straight there, Ken took a moment to swing past the break room. The coffee had gotten better lately, with new machines that didn't need to be cleaned as often. There was something special about them, but Ken hadn't paid attention. Ken never cleaned the coffee machines. Sometimes he'd put a new pot on after he'd emptied it out.

He didn't add any creamer, all that was left was the nasty hazelnut kind, but he compensated with extra sugar. Then, the steaming styrofoam cup warming his hand, Ken finally made his way to the chief's office.

The door was open, but the chief wasn't there. Instead, Nishimura was sitting at the desk. The DA was focused on a sleek little laptop, with all the papers that usually covered the desk piled neatly to the side. Another man in a boxy brown suit was sitting at the desk.

Ken knocked politely on the door frame, and Nishimura and the other man glanced up. "Hey McParland, I'm glad you're still here," said Nishimura.

"No problem, I was just trying to catch up on paperwork."

"Aren't we all," muttered the man in the brown suit.

"We've got an issue cropping up, and I think you'd be the right man for it," said Nishimura, speaking over the other. "Remind me, you joined the force when you were, what, in your thirties?"

"Yeah," said Ken. "I was thirty-six."

"And what did you do before?"

"Lots of stuff. You've got my file, so you know I'm from Pennsylvania. My dad was a longshoreman, back when that was still a thing. Um, I guess I did warehouse-type work the most. I probably worked for East Penn Manufacturing the longest. Drove a forklift for most of it." Ken frowned, taking a sip of coffee, "Before this, I was a supervisor at Air Products in Allentown. Technically I was in charge of a bunch of stuff, but really I was just driving a forklift."

The other two in the office were just sitting quietly, so Ken continued, "Nothing very relevant to anything I do now. Other than some crap with the teamsters, or maybe some light wage theft, they weren't up to anything. Batteries and air tanks aren't really attractive to criminal types."

Nishimura smiled, "No, you're right, we don't really care about where you worked. We care more about what you worked."

Nishimura frowned, running a hand through his bristly hair, "No, sorry, we care about who you are. You're background, not the background. It's late, and I'm more than a bit muddled. This has been a busy week for me too."

The other man cut in, "Let me, Will. It's my gig anyways."

The guy turned and reached his hand out to Ken, "I'm Major Brown, from Madison." His other hand flashed a state troopers badge.

Taking his hand, Ken replied, "Nice to meet you, sir."

"Likewise," answered the trooper. "We've got an undercover job coming up, and we've been looking for a couple of guys with the right background. Not a lot of guys in the force can fake a factory background. You've heard of the Order of Owls?"

"Sure, like the Elks, right? Bunch of guys get together on the weekends to drink and throw darts in a fancy clubhouse?"

"Close enough. They also put a lot of effort into helping their members find work. They've lobbied about unemployment, factory closures, that sort of thing."

Nishimura cut in, "The protests, vandalism, and other issues we've been seeing rise here in Milwaukee, it's worse in Madison."

Brown continued, "And you know what? Most of the arrests we've managed to make involve a member of the good ole Fraternal Order of Owls. It's bad enough the FBI is getting involved - a lot of these crimes are spiking the most in cities with an Owl chapterhouse, so they've got an open investigation. But they aren't sharing anything with us at all."

Ken nodded, "So you want me to go in because I drove a forklift?"

"Pretty much, yes. You're also older than a lot of our other options, you've kept your face out of the news, you've got a clean record. And, frankly, you're smarter than most of the other guys. You might not have gone to college, but I saw your detective test scores."

"And I'm not married and don't have kids at home," Ken finished for the other man.

"Right. Obviously, I can't force you. But I need an answer soon."

Ken looked at Nishimura, "Will, what happens if I stay?"

"Come on, McParland. You've seen the writing on the wall. Only reason we haven't closed property crimes entirely is in case you needed to testify. That's done, so you're getting transferred. I don't know where or to what, but there's no way you can keep the same job now."

The attorney reached out and closed his laptop, "You'll still be a detective, you're not getting punished, so at least you won't be on parking or traffic duty."

"Unless they need a body, and then I'll be first in line, right?" Ken rolled his head, popping the vertebrae in his neck with a loud cracking noise.

"I guess I'm doing this. Wonderful. So what now? I don't know any Owls in Milwaukee, so what, is there some new chapter I'm supposed to mosy up to?"

Brown pulled an envelope out of his pocket, "Fill these out. And be happy you finished your paperwork here. These are new employment papers, you're working for the state troopers now. We'll transfer you to the Green Bay office. There's an address in there and an entry code to your new apartment in Madison too."

"Tricky," said Ken.

"That's us, full of tricks," agreed the Major. "I'll be your handler, we've got a bank account and other details set up. Once you get to Madison things should be straightforward."

"Backstory?"

"Make it up on your own," said Nishimura.

"Keep it simple," said Brown. "The only real worry is that you'll run into someone you know. There's way too many people moving back and forth around the country to be sure you won't meet up with someone from Allentown. Most traffic goes to Milwaukee from Madison, though, so it's unlikely you'll meet anyone who knows you're a cop."

"Wonderful. We done here?" asked Ken.

"Yeah, go home. This shouldn't be a long assignment. And it isn't urgent either. Take your time, find a storage locker, that sort of thing," said Nishimura. "The chief knows about this, unofficially. You won't be expected at roll call tomorrow. Officially you're using some time off after closing a major case before taking a promotion to state."

"Well, goodnight," said Ken, standing up.

Ken left, stopping at his desk for a moment. He wasn't going to bother taking his little plant. Some sort of ivy, the yellow-green leaves drooped outside the pot. The last chief had given one to all the detectives when the old guy retired. There wasn't much else to take. A pair of earphones was really it. A bag of exercise clothes from his locker. And with that, Ken's presence in the station was gone.

His apartment wasn't much better. The place was furnished entirely through Goodwill and Ikea, with only his mattress was something he'd call nice. But he'd buy a new one in Madison easily enough.

He slept through most of the next day, then started packing the day after that. No need for a storage locker, he could replace all the furniture with a week's pay easily enough, and for less effort than arranging a truck. His clothes fit in a few bags. All in all, even though he had a month to get there, he was in his new place in Madison before the end of the week.