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Night Reconnaissance
Javert had been undercover that night, patrolling the streets dressed as a civilian in the hopes of catching a glance at such crimes occult to the ones in uniform under the morning sun. It was such the situation that led Javert to overhear the end of a conversation between a group of young men that had just stepped out of a kind of brewery, intoxicated out of their senses.
“He vanished me, the bastard. He finally did it!” one of three men spoke.
“What an asshole!” said the one with a cane.
“Wait, no… I thought we liked him” said the third one.
“We do, Bossuet, we do. But we like ‘taire more!”
“Screw the Revolution!” the first man screamed at the building, stumbling backwards into the other two that caught him and promptly covered his mouth.
“Shhhh, this a secret!” said the man referred to as Bossuet, slurring his words as badly as the rest.
“You’re going to get us in trouble if you don’t shut up!”
The screaming man shrugged off his friends and leaned against the objectively disgusting brewery wall. Javert was more or less covered by the shadows, a deep darkness consuming the street save for the faint moonlight that let the accustomed eye define the shape of the general landscape.
He observed the three young men with a gaze the night owl saved for unsuspecting mice.
“What did I even do this time! We were all getting along fine for once.”
“You started a chant of La Marseillaise and he seemed kind of okay with that? And then he realized you changed the lyrics halfway to imply we wanted to lay with our enemies instead of killing them.”
“But that would be so much better, Joly! I don’t understand why he wants to die so bad! All of you.”
There was silence after that.
Javert weighed his options. He could arrest these people here and now and interrogate them for specifics. He wasn’t about to do that of course. It was three against one and even if he caught one while the others ran away, rebels had a misguided sense of loyalty that made them particularly gruesome to interrogate and the information obtained was unreliable. It would in addition alert the rest of the group that the police was on their trail.
The main objective right now was obtaining information in a way that did not alert them and raised their defenses. The current inebriated state of these men would likely help loosen their tongues and casually incriminate them. Indeed, the objective would require a… skillful approach.
*----*----*----*----*
Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet jumped in their places when they heard a pile of buckets tumble down the street and saw a man falling to the floor beside them.
“Are you alright, monsieur?” said Joly.
“Did you perhaps had one too many” asked Grantaire, taking a swig from a bottle himself.
The man stumbled into the light, his clothes dirty with mud and a disoriented expression.
“Can I have some of that, my throat is as a desert.”
“You shouldn’t drink too much, old man. It will kill you.” suggested Joly grabbing the bottle and drinking as well. “Trust me I’m a doctor.”
“Not yet!” said Bossuet and Grantaire in unison and the three laughed at their own drunken jest.
“May I join you guys for a drink in this fine establishment?” suggested the old man raising to his feet clumsily.
“High praise you give to this joint!” laughed Grantaire, “I don’t recommend you go in here, the food will poison you, the drinks will kill you and the people will stab you in the back at the first chance. You’d do better spinning on your feet until you drop down than coming into The Musain.”
“How dare you! Huechelop thinks of you as a son” said Joly.
“She used to cradle you in her arms and feed you like a baby” said Bossuet with a tremble in his voice.
“When I got sick from eating the spoiled oysters! She thought I might die.”
“I thought it was very maternal of her” said Bossuet.
“I wouldn’t know” said Grantaire. “My mother vanished with a traveling merchant when I was six and my father is a wretched man that detests I was born from his loins. He would sooner cradle a cow carcass than me”.
“Oh right” said Joly turning to look at the stranger. “Hey old man, you’re a father, are you not?” said Joly.
“Ah. I’m afraid not, no.”
Joly sprung forward and hooked his arm to the man’s arm as well as Grantaire’s and said “This man’s your father now ‘taire! And you’ll be the son he never had. It is a match made under the stars” he added with a solemn demeanor looking wistful at the night sky.
“He can teach you how to be an honorable man.” said Bossuet.
“He will buy you a nice pair of pants and teach you right from wrong.” said Joly.
“He will teach you how to talk to women and take them to bed!” said Bossuet excited.
“Or he’ll finance you some company for the night” said Joly winking.
“Do you hear what these drunks suggest, my man?” said Grantaire, laughing warmly. “They don’t know you and they burden you with an artist son, the ultimate punishment for the civilized man, the crown of thorns in the head of the lawful hardworking citizen of the world, the leech on your neck that won’t just die. Tell me, what do you think of this imposition?”
The man looked at The Musain, maybe thinking of leaving the three friends behind to go get his drink.
“I believe I could be your father if you’d take me inside to a glass of wine” said the old man.
The three young men cheered in unison.
“We can introduce him to the guys as your father! It’ll be a riot” said Joly enthusiastic.
“Uh, I’m not sure he would like that” said Bossuet.
“Of course, he would. He looks like he knows how to have a good time!” said Joly hitting the man in the back in a friendly manner.
“No, I mean him” said Bossuet pointing behind Joly.
Walking down the stairs, looking down at them was Enjolras himself, flanked by Combeferre and Courfeyrac, an amused expression for the last two and a judgmental vibe coming from the other.
“Behold, great leader. I have brought my estranged father to join our cause” said Grantaire grabbing the old man in a half embrace with a mocking smile on his lips.
“I’m not leader of anything of yours, Grantaire. Tell your father your ramblings are nothing but fantasies of a drunk man that doesn’t know where he stands.”
“Will you not pretend in front of my father that you do not detest me completely?”
“I don’t detest you, Grantaire. I pity your lack of faith.”
“But I attend mass consistently, Father!”
“Is Enjolras also your father, R?” asked Courfeyrac leaning on the doorway, a big smile on his face.
Grantaire made a rude gesture at him.
“Monsieur Grantaire, your son is being utmost impolite. I think he needs a good spanking to set him straight!”
“I will spank your mother, how about that!” answered Grantaire lifting his bottle as a toast.
“What happened with the poetics of your insults, R” chided Courfeyrac. “As one of your father figures I am extremely disappointed. I will send for Prouvaire and tell him there was not one figure of speech in your retort.”
“I want to be ‘taire’s father too!” said Joly. “Grantaire go to your room!”
“Get a job! Give me a grandson!” cheered Bossuet.
“Get out of my house you rowdy bum!” added Courfeyrac.
“That’s Enjolras line, actually” said Combeferre out of nowhere.
Everyone nodded and expressed their agreement except Enjolras who threw a betrayed look at Combeferre who smiled proudly.
“Hey, R, where did your papa go?” asked Bossuet.
Everyone looked around but they could not find the man that had been with them just a few seconds ago.
“I believe he has left me. Oh well” shrugged Grantaire. “It is what it is. It isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. I am used to living as an orphan.”
“No!” objected Joly “we’ll all be your father. Right guys?”. He threw his arms around Grantaire’s neck from behind as if to be carried.
“Yes!" followed Bossuet and attempted to carry Grantaire who carried Joly, almost making them both fall.
“No, guys, it’s fine I don’t need a father!”. Grantaire attempted to regain his balance.
“I can teach you math and science” said Combeferre. “Enjolras can teach you politics”.
“I will not!”
“I mean you already do, in a way…”
“Yes but, no. I do not wish to be Grantaire’s father!” argued Enjolras clumsily.
“You already know your lines!” cheered Grantaire.
Everyone cheered. Almost.
*----*----*----*----*
Javert walked down the street in the dark, getting away unnoticed from the crowd of drunken students still making a racket in front of the brewery.
Surely if what had befallen just now mimicked in any way what happened on the inside of the establishment on a regular night it wasn’t in any way of Javert’s interest to witness a second more of it.
Just a bunch of students talking nonsense in a drunken state was far from a crime. Besides, some of these young men appeared to be of upstanding social position according to their garments. Like the three that came out of through the door after, they seemed like they came from respectable families and therefore would hold no interest in rebellions of any sort.
As an afterthought, Javert concluded that a call to “Screw the revolution!” was an agreeable sentiment that he shared and did not see any further necessity for an arrest at the moment but would certainly send an agent to keep an ear out in The Café Musain. Just in case.