Deep in the remains of the Café Musain, or at least right by the door, as it has already been pointed out that that part of the ceiling failed to collapse in the explosion, Enjolras and Grantaire are holding a meeting. Or rather, Enjolras is holding a meeting while Grantaire... well, drinks. What do you expect?

"That man tried to thwart my revolution!" the marbled leader of the ABC Society fumed. "He had no regard for the people!"

Grantaire responded by emptying the carafe in front of him in one fell gulp.

"I mean, even telling him that I had to lead a revolt… any decent citizen of the republic would have understood! He just… ooh, I'm so… so…"

"Mad?" Grantaire volunteered.

"You bet your absinthe I am. That stupid, ugly, fat… hairy…"

"Absinthe…" mused Grantaire.

"I just wanna… Grrrrr! What would make that… that… filth just furious?"

Grantaire considered this. "Ask the absinthe..." he decided.

"I could burn down the station," Enjolras continued. "I could…" he blinked. "Grantaire?"

"Eh?"

"Did you just say 'ask the absinthe'?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do tell me what that means," Enjolras said with remarkable patience.

"We could poison him."

"And I suppose, my dear little drunken sop," said Enjolras bitterly, "that you just keep a cupboard of poisons in the café?"

"Not in the café…"

"And in a minute you'll just pull open a secret compartment and hand me a bottle of cyanide to take out that pathetic inspector?" Enjolras continued.

"Well, no, you'd have to-"

"And then you'll just…"

"WOULD YOU LISTEN TO ME?" Grantaire finally shouted.

The fearless leader was startled. "Um… okay."

"Thank you," said the winecask. "Now, do you want to kill that inspector or not?"

"Yeah…"

"Then come with me," Grantaire said simply. He got to his feet and went out into the street. Enjolras was a little confused, but his newfound loathing for Inspector Javert was much stronger than his disdain for Grantaire, so he followed him.

Out on the street, Grantaire used a streetlamp and his monkey ancestry to climb part way up the front of the café and press a few letters on the CARPE HO RAS sign, which is normally outside the Corinth, but we can allow this one little plot hole. OOC-ness, by the way, does not count as a plot hole.

Grantaire spoke the letters as he jabbed at them. "C… A… R… A… P… H… E…"

"Did you say 'carafe'?" Enjolras called from down on the street. "That's not how you spell it, winecask!"

"Hush, pretty-boy! I have to say the passwords!"

"Passwords?" Enjolras repeated.

"You messed me up!" cried Grantaire. "Now I have to start all over again! Um... C… A… R… A… P… H… E… I solemnly swear to you that I am drunk."

"You…" began Enjolras. He was interrupted when Grantaire jumped down off the wall, falling straight toward him.

Before he could land splat on the street, however, a portion of it opened, and Grantaire and Enjolras went plummeting down a hole, followed by Enjolras's screams of, "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH DIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUU!" and Grantaire's ecstatic cries of, "Whee!"

After a prolonged fall they landed on a huge mattress.

"Where the monarchy are we?"

"My wine cellar slash secret lab," Grantaire said casually.

Enjolras blinked again. "You have a secret lab?"

"Well," Grantaire sighed, "I toy with the powers of absinthe in here. I've developed a few potions for shape shifting and, of course, I keep my poisons here."

"You have poisons?" Enjolras gasped. A simple blink could not convey the surprise he was feeling at this particular moment.

Grantaire frowned at him. "Um… yah."

"In that case, I'm sorry for every time I've called you winecask, waste of space, drunken sod, or my dear little-"

"I don't mind that one," Grantaire interrupted.

Enjolras's eye twitched.

Grantaire went over to a huge cupboard full of identical bottles, all labeled with a picture. He began rifling through the containers. "This one's got a skeleton on it. I think that means poison," he called back to Enjolras.

"Okay then, wineca… Grantaire… how will we give Javert this poison?"

"I've got that part all figured out," Grantaire declared. "All we have to do is hand the fellow a plateful of chimichongas that have cyanide instead of bean dip!"

Enjolras was quiet for a moment. "Chimichongas?" he said at length. "That's Mexican food."

"Of course!" Grantaire said triumphantly, "No gypsy-born obsessive lawman can resist Mexican food!"

"Oh, of course," Enjolras repeated. "So… how will we give him a plate of chimichongas?"

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I've got it all figured out."

The scene fades out, Enjolras looking more than slightly disturbed.

The scene fades in to Javert filling out papers or something in the station. He was not a very happy Javert because he couldn't find Montparnasse and forgot to go look for Enjolras and Grantaire. There came a knock on the door and the muffled sound of giggling. Javert sighed, crossed the room, and opened the door to reveal… to reveal… nothing. Javert looked left. No one. Javert looked right. No one. Javert looked up. No one. He looked down. A plate of chimichongas was sitting on the stoop with a little note.

Javert picked up the note and began to read aloud. "To Inspector Javert, with love, the ABC Society?" He frowned at the plate. "Well… it is Mexican food…"

Every bit of the food was gone in three seconds flat.

Javert went over to his desk and sat still for a second, looking content, then suddenly passed out.

Enjolras and Grantaire rushed in.

"Good plan, Grantaire!" Enjolras exclaimed. "Wait… did I just say that?"

"So," Grantaire smiled, "does this mean you'll reconsider that whole 'straight and chaste' thing?"

"Not quite. What do we do with the body?"

Grantaire frowned in thought. "We could-"

He was interrupted, however, when Javert sat up.

"What was I doing?" he muttered to himself. "Oh, filling out papers or something. Right…" Javert noticed the students. "What? It's those idiots who just escaped prison yesterday!"

As he spoke, Javert's sideburns disappeared and he began to grow thinner and thinner. The students said nothing, but watched in part amusement and part horror as something strange happened to the obsessive gypsy-born lawman.

"You should be jailed, you know that?" he said threateningly as his hair turned from gray to blonde and his eyelashes became suddenly full and thick. "You students think…"

Enjolras and Grantaire found themselves staring, shocked and mortified, at a beautiful lovely lady with Javert's voice.

"…that you'll win the world… well, I, for one, find your General Lamarque to be quite the fool…"

Enjolras looked significantly at Grantaire and jerked his head toward Javert. Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras made a pummeling motion. Grantaire nodded, scuttled over to Javert, and punched him in the nose.

"I hate you," Javert said as he passed out.

The moment his overly made-up face hit the table Enjolras exploded. But not literally. That would be sad. "A whore! Grantaire! He's supposed to be dead!" he fumed.

"Yeah…" said Grantaire. "Weird."

Enjolras looked at the drunk suspiciously. "Grantaire… let me see the poison bottle."

Grantaire shrugged and passed Enjolras the vial. The reborn Apollo frowned down at the label, then suddenly threw it at Grantaire's head, shattering it against his unusually thick skull. "This isn't a picture of a skeleton!" he raged. "It's a STARVING HOOKER!"

"Oh…" said Grantaire. "Well, I said I thought it was poison. I never said I knew it was poison. Double vision is a side effect of absinthe, you know."

Enjolras glared at him with an unbridled fury that would have made all the king's horses and all the king's men quake in their boots. Even though horses don't generally wear boots. Grantaire didn't really notice. He was used to it. "Take the body and throw it into the Seine!" Enjolras hissed.

"Fine, fine," sighed the drunk.

Grantaire put the Javert-whore into a large brown sack, which he slung over his shoulder. Enjolras glared viciously after him as he left the station.