"Right. Get out your books, or laptops, or whatever it is that you use." The new professor had hardly walked in before he started addressing the students, waving his hand towards them but not actually looking. He paced a couple of times in front of the desk, his head bent down and his strides long. Some of the class still spoke quietly between each other, but when his feet stopped and his head rose, there was silence. A class had never gone so completely quiet in such a short time.
"Sorry I'm late." He flashed a small grin, his voice ringing. "Another CEO wanted a spot of extra 'sick pay', then I got caught up - quite literally, I'm afraid - with a potential client-turned-assassin, so that slowed me up quite a bit." He made an exaggerated embarrassed cringe, and then smiled. It was impossible to tell if he was joking or not, his smile was more of a sneer but his eyes were unyielding and serious.
"Sir, are you our new professor?" A voice from the class asked.
"Yes of course, why wouldn't I be?" He said obviously, with a disapproving frown. He turned slowly around to his desk. "So I suppose I should teach you something, then." He picked up a folder and looked through it. After two or three pages, he tossed it to the side, and began to read the other. "My, what are they teaching you these days?" He muttered with wide eyes and lips turned down in a small scorn. He tossed the folder back onto the desk in disdain.
"So. Criminology." He said. "What can you possibly expect to learn from studying criminals?" He asked introspectively, scratching the side of his mouth as if to conceal a smirk. Someone called out one of the topics, and his face turned to immediate distaste.
"No!" He said, cringing and scrunching up his eyes. "No, no, no, that's not interesting at all." He pinched the corners of his eyes and sighed. "I thought this would be an interesting subject." He muttered quietly to himself.
"I'll tell you something." He said suddenly in an elevated voice. "Criminals are very good at breaking rules." There were some laughs from the students. "You begin with knowing how to pick a lock and pickpocket a policeman and slowly people remember you. They keep their eye on you. Then you go from the one picking locks to the one who knows a kid who can pick locks and then when you've got your own muscle to do the dirty work, you know you're in business." He sent a small glance to the only one in the room who would notice it - a man sitting in the back row, who received the glance with a look of perpetual and abiding disbelief that was, nowadays, all too frequent on his face.
"Question. When attempting to manipulate or control certain persons, is it most desirable to strike fear into their hearts, or to earn their respect?"
"Respect." One person calls out. "If people want to please you, they will go to greater lengths to do that than if they are just saving their skin."
"Interesting. Are you afraid of spiders?"
"I don't like them, no."
"If you see a spider crawling up your arm do you act on the impulse of fear, or do you respond from the respect you have for that spider?" The class chuckled.
"That's not really the same-"
"But it is!" The professor replied. "If you respected that spider you would put it in a jar and chuck it outside but because you fear it, it can take one scuttle across the floor and send you dancing. That's control. Making someone weak to their own mind and reasoning, making them act on impulse, on their selfish survival instinct. If that spider is clever enough it can get you out of your room in seconds."
He held the silence for a moment, and then spoke again. "That's just one - the other is desire. I'm sure you've all been bribed by sweets before so you know how that works." He smiled. "Either way, you have to understand who you're dealing with and figure out what will work best. But I digress. What I should have told you just then was that control over people is what most successful, big criminals have that allow them to stay that way. Once you have control, you're pulling puppet strings. Barely ever get your hands dirty."
"Sir, how much of what happens is actually the work of big criminals?"
The professor responded with a chuckle, and licked his lips to suppress a smile. "Well..." His head swayed slowly to either side like a reptile. "More than you think."
"You talk as if it's easy." The second voice was sceptical, and he took a moment to look over the young woman. Early adulthood, only child, a parent in government, very interesting pressure points and dangerously obvious weaknesses.
"If I wanted to cause a massive traffic delay, all I would need to do is call up a few people and they would have a couple of trucks and a car blocking up the road in under twenty minutes. I mean I would have to be pretty powerful, but it could be done. Easy peasy."
"He's a nutter." One student muttered quietly to the other, sitting up the back. "This doesn't even relate to our work, he's just showing off."
"He thinks we'll learn better if he puts on a show." The other whispered in return.
...
"Do we have to type our paper?"
"Yes, why on earth would I expect it in a less convenient form? Honestly, do students use their heads anymore?" He had his hand over his eyes when a small four note tune sounded from his phone on the table. He frowned at his and typed in a reply. His eyes had that empty darkness, like a candle that has just been blown out, like the echo of light was still there but just out of sight.
"Sorry about that, class. Little job on the side, I try not to let it take up my professional time..." He placed the phone down delicately, but with fingers burning with the tiniest bit of adrenaline. "So your paper!" He lifted his arms suddenly, and brought them back together, rubbing them like a fly. "I expect you to convey to me, in a reasonably detailed manner, your interpretation of today's class and your own understanding of the criminal underworld. What it achieves, how it works, who rules it." He spoke with excessively defined words and exaggerated inflections. "I personally don't care what area you choose to research - any country will do. Or you could do the entirety of Planet Earth, if you'd like to be up all night."
"Will it go towards anything?"
"Only my opinion of you." He smiled somewhat threateningly. "Have it ready by next week."
All of a sudden, the doors burst open and an older man carrying papers and a folder walked in.
"I'm very sorry, students." He said, not yet having seen the man perched on his desk. "I was held up by miles of traffic. A couple of trucks and a car had blocked up the road, not any signs of a driver in any vehicle, mind you. Blocked every car from getting through on either side. The truck was a company truck, carrying, uh..."
"Petrol?"
"Yes, did you hear about it?"
"Lucky guess."
"Well they didn't let people within a good distance of it for the first half hour, until the flames went out." As he continued his story, the 'professor' stayed silent, grinning to himself and looking like he was holding back laughter. When the other man properly noticed him, he looked startled.
"Oh, sorry. Are you..."
"Oh I was just filling in for you."
"T-thank you, Mr, er..." The man held out his hand.
"Moriarty." He said with a not-completely-genuine smile, shaking the professor's hand. "Pleasure."
"Are you new? I haven't seen you around."
"Oh, I'm quite new. I'm in criminology myself, as a matter of fact." Without a second word, he strode to the door, leaving the professor perplexed and the class in a growing commotion.
"W-well," The man called to him as he walked away. "I'll catch you later, then!"
Moriarty grinned to himself as he pushed open the doors and let them fall back together behind him.