1
DR. VAIL MIFFLIN, PHD IN HISTORY
“And,that draws to a conclusion today’s lecture.”
“Doc, you still have three slides here,” Lor called to me, but I ignored him, and there were some giggles from the crowd as he quickly flipped through to a slide with The End perched over the Cleveland skyline.
“Thiswraps up our study of Cleveland’s gang war in the 1970s for control of that city’s criminal operations.” I pointed at the projection screen off the stage to my right. “In 1976, Cleveland became Bomb City. Crime doesn’t pay forever, and if you take anything away from this lecture, it should be that truth. Remember John Nardi and what can happen to people who turn against their crime family. Very, very bloody. And in the end, lots of money gets seized by the Internal Revenue Service.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd of students at my back as I shifted around and wrote Nardi’s name on the whiteboard and underlined it. When I turned to the front of the stage, the lights came up overhead and there was a smattering of applause from out in the seats that were, in my estimation, too far away for a decent discussion. I stood at the bottom of what felt like a massive bowl and rising away toward the ceiling were three packed-full sections. People began talking as they got to their feet, creating a dull roar of humanity.
The requests for entrance to my sections had become very demanding, and this year I’d been assigned the largest lecture hall Manhattan Central University had on campus. The applause went on long enough that my face flushed hot, and there was more laughter as I waved it off. This ending to my classes was something that had started happening at some point in the last few years, and nothing I said seemed to discourage it.
The positive attention was very, very odd and I had no idea how to handle it, so I flashed a nervous smile and waved again, which got me some more giggling. Lor O’Guinn, my teaching assistant for History of Organized Crime, as well as several other classes, powered down my laptop where it sat on the podium to my left and sent me a gap-toothed smile. “Office hours,” he whispered as I went to turn off the small microphone clipped to my bow tie.
“Oh yes, my office hours are from two to four Wednesday through Friday. Available by appointment as well, but you must be enrolled in this class to make one during those times.”
Glancing at Lor, I checked to make sure that was everything I should have relayed to the students, and he nodded. With a relieved sigh, I flipped off the mic and turned to erase two hours’ worth of my mental ramblings and wanderings from the whiteboard.
“Stop!” One of my students—I couldn’t remember his name, but he had been in all my classes for three years—raced up onto the stage. His natural spiral curls bounced as he went, and I decided his freckles were very cute as he took several pictures of the whiteboard. “It’s so I can post them for everyone. You write so much.” He saluted and rushed off.
With a shrug, I started cleaning the board. There were flow charts—despite the fact I’d also had Lor running a presentation—important vocabulary and names, and one unfortunate drawing of a dog that seemed to be ripped in half, although I couldn’t remember why I’d done it. Sometimes I just started talking and it went very haphazardly.
Lor was adorable with his puffy baby face and big brown eyes as he turned to watch me finish up, and as an undergrad, he was also the youngest assistant I’d had. For some reason he had a white stripe in his dyed-black hair that reminded me of a skunk, and he always wore a skull shirt. The theme varied, but it wasalwaysa skull. Kids did odd things; however, he had top grades and a serious love of history I hadn’t seen since... well, myself at his age. He brushed his floppy hair off his forehead and shoved my laptop into my messenger bag less gently than I might have liked, and then I got another one of his friendly smiles as he slung my bag over his shoulder.
“Ye should’ve talked more about Danny Greene!” someone called in a beautiful, lilting Irish accent, and I whirled toward the seats out in the audience. People frequently attended my classes who weren’t enrolled, and it looked like a group of men in suits, maybe younger than me but still older than the students, were in the very back row at the tippy top of the hall.
Laughing, I crossed my arms. “I talked about him for a solid hour. What more could you want?”
“Ye should’ve mentioned more about the wee Celtic Club. Ye said things I haven’t heard talked about until today” was the reply that boomed back, completely unshy. Definitely not a student. They tended to be timid, especially in a midlevel class like this one, before they’d broken in their thinking teeth and thought they knew everything.
I nodded. “There’s so much there. Cleveland is a rich city for history. I have a list of suggested reading, if you’d like it.”
The four men leaned together to have some sort of discussion that resulted in one of them being nominated to walk down the steps to the bottom. In the meantime, another man, who I also thought might not be a student, came to stand near the edge of the stage. No suit, but his clothes seemed expensive, and he had a gold chain looped around his neck. His dark hair was styled up and back. Red in the face and teeth bared, he was agitated, if nothing else.Curious.
“Uh, Dr. Mifflin?” Lor scuttled quickly to my side and drew me away from the front of the stage with a hand on my elbow. “Remember when Dr. Atmeyer said you weren’t supposed to talk to people anymore after that guy yelled at you last week?” He bounced on his toes and gave me wide eyes as if he was willing me to remember this long-lost conversation. I’d been subject to these sorts of probing looks my entire life. I was smart, so people never bought that I had ADHD and took offense when everyday things didn’t stick in my brain. It wasn’t fair. I worked hard to try to conjure up this missing discussion.
Lor’s eyes went woeful.
Blinking at Lor, stress began to build in my mind.
“Oh.... Well, the man only yelled a little.” I shrugged. Yeah, I didn’t remember a conversation with Atmeyer. The incident in question rang a bell, however. It hadn’t concerned me much. I’d been chewed out for a lot of things over the years. I annoyed people.
“Yes, but Dr. Atmeyer toldmeto make sure you don’t do anything to get yourself hurt. He called you an ‘asset.’”
“He did? Me?”
Lor’s smile was indulgent, and I got the feeling I’d missed something, but I frequently tuned out during boring conversations—which was part of the reason I had teaching assistants like the lovely Lor. “Yes, he did. That man over there seems like he wants to take your head off. I’m going to go tell him he has to leave.” Before Lor had finished speaking he started off and headed directly toward the stranger in question, who certainly did seem angry, for some reason.
I’d already promised the other fellow with the pretty accent a reading list. This was all so silly. I wouldn’t be rude, no matter what the school administration thought I should do. I tugged a notebook out of the back pocket of my suit pants, along with a pen, and quickly scrawled down several of my favorite titles.
Lor was talking with his hands and whispering with the angry man as I hopped off the stage and met the other one on his way to me from the upper level. I was a little surprised I had to crane my neck when he came to a stop in front of me, dressed in a plum suit that did amazing things for his blue eyes. His shoulders filled out his clothing nicely. The severe way he’d combed his reddish-blond hair straight back was offset by a smile that warmed until it was friendly. His beard, as red as the hair on the top of his head, seemed like it would be soft if I ran my fingers through it. My stomach heated, and for a moment I wished he didn’t seem like he was a visiting professor. My parents had drilled into my head from my first year at MCU to avoid entanglements at work, because they were both academics as well, and I’d taken their good advice.
“Rowen Shaughnessy,” the man said, holding out his hand. Hell, that beautiful tenor had the hair standing up on the back of my neck.Talk to me about whatever you want.He blinked when I pressed the piece of paper with the reading list into his palm, then tucked my notebook and pen back into my pocket.
“Fantastic. What do you teach?” I smiled at him as politely as I could, but my mind was already on getting to the gym. My fingers wanted to tap against my legs and I pressed my hands flat to my sides to keep them in check.
“Ach, I don’t teach,” he said and grinned as if I’d told a good joke. “We”—he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, and I glanced up at his friends—“have a wee personal interest in the subject ye teach. History is great, it keeps people from repeating the mistakes of their betters, or worsts, as it may be.” He glanced over my shoulder and frowned. “Ye were using a lot of familiar names. I might like to pick yer brain sometime.” He darted his attention back to me, and I got stuck staring at his eyes so long his smiled blazed warmer and my stomach tingled happily.
