A/N: I won't be able to update most of next week. Don't worry; I haven't given up on my story! I just won't be able to update for a (short) while.
A/N 2: I'm also splitting from canon at this point. Just to let you know before the questions arise! Also, any guesses, etc. that you have as to the plot, please PM me rather than post them in reviews. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables or any of the characters from Les Miserables presented in this fanfiction in any of their forms.
"Ya do?" Gavroche asked. "Didn't think all ya narks would know too much 'bout Gorbeau…"
"Yes, well, we actually know it quite well. There is quite a history surrounding the Gorbeau tenement," Javert said. He leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed across his chest. It was quite a wonder that none of the other policemen had yet noticed the exchange between the boy and the Inspector. However, most of them were either tending to Laplaie or desperately trying to regain order in the chaos that the station had become.
"'istory?" Gavroche asked, tilting his head. "Don't know much 'bout it myself, bu' I know the people there well!"
"As I am sure you do," Javert agreed. He realized it was becoming rather difficult to hear Gavroche's mumbled replies above the noisy din in the station; they really ought to move away from the disorder and confusion. In addition to being able to hear Gavroche properly, they would also be away from eavesdropping officers anxious to grab every bit of gossip that they could. The less that got around, the better. That way, Javert could handle the case himself.
He did not wish to admit to himself, and he certainly would never admit it to anyone else, but the boy sort of reminded him of himself. Well, at least he reminded him of his ten-year-old self. Gavroche Thénardier had that same strange brand of bravery, the kind of courage that enabled a victim to finally bring about vengeance.
"Come with me," Javert stated, turning and walking to a door just off the right side of his desk. He did not check to see if Gavroche was following, for he had an inkling that he would. If anything, it would bring him away from the craziness of the main room of the station.
It was silent inside the little office. There was a desk, with a chair on each side. A coat rack stood next to the door; no coats hung upon it at the moment. These were the sparse decorations that embellished the room.
"You can sit there if you like," Javert said, gesturing to one of the chairs. He sat down opposite Gavroche in the other chair. He folded his arms on the table, looking intently at Gavroche. "Could you tell me anything about the residents of the Gorbeau tenement?"
"Wut do ya wanna know?" Gavroche asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Well, in particular, I would much like to know if there have been any criminal activities there, to the best of your knowledge." Javert felt like this was an interrogation, he the interrogator and Gavroche the felon. After all, the boy had committed some sort of crime to deserve his arrest. If they took a little longer getting around to that, then so be it. Any information Javert gained from this discussion regarding the Gorbeau tenement would be worth his while, he was sure of it.
"Thénardier and 'is wife, my 'rents, suppose…," Gavroche trailed off.
"Yes?" Javert prompted. "Please, do go on."
"They're par' of this ring, sort of. It's called Patron-Minette," Gavroche stated. Javert nodded. He knew Patron-Minette like he knew the Gorbeau tenement: both had a history of crime and murder.
"There're a few more in i' too," Gavroche went on, "There's…uh…Babet. He's the skeleton." Javert inclined his head. He knew Patron-Minette's many incarnations, but it would be better to hear the boy out. Perhaps Gavroche had a different perspective, being practically one of the Patron-Minette himself.
"Then there's Gueulemer, an' 'e's the big one. An' he doesn't have much brains." Gavroche paused, collecting his thoughts. "No one sees Claquesous 'bout. 'e's kinda a shadow, I guess."
Javert nodded. The descriptions fit his own knowledge to the letter. "Anyone else?" he prompted.
"Yeah," Gavroche replied. "There's Montparnasse. We're kinda friends, me an' Montparnasse." He crossed his arms in front of himself with a little smile. "'e looks ou' for me, I look ou' for 'im."
"Really?" Javert asked. He was less familiar with Montparnasse than with the other members of Patron-Minette, but he knew his type well. Montparnasse was a dandy of sorts. He was not rich, and he did not have an inheritance or wealthy parents, to the best of Javert's knowledge. He stole and bargained to rise up in the world. His clothes were fine, but starting to show signs of wear and age. Such was the fate of one who tried to earn an income upon crime. One cannot survive long on purely theft. The turn of the world, the change of the inhabitants of Paris, the transformation of the decades often affects the criminals even more so than the honest, law-abiding men. The commitment of one crime often leaves a hunger for more, and so, eventually, the amount of people available to murder and steal from dwindles.
"Yeah…" Gavroche trailed off, twisting his fingers in themselves. "Are ya gonna 'rrest them all?"
"Maybe not all of them, Gavroche," Javert said, "But probably, at the very least, Patron-Minette's main players. One must, after all, remove the guards to get at the prize. The prize being – "
"My father," Gavroche finished, completing Javert's sentence. "Bu'…wut 'bout 'Ponine an' 'Zelma?"
"Who might they be?" Javert asked. He had not heard of these inhabitants of the Gorbeau tenement previously.
"My sisters. Éponine an' Azelma. They still live wit' father an' mother a' Gorbeau." Gavroche nodded, almost to himself. "'Zelma's younger, an' she's no' too smart 'bout 'erself; she lets 'erself get pushed 'round a bunch. Then, there's 'Ponine…she's older. She's smarter than 'Zelma, bu' that's no' sayin' bunches. She's kinda bein' all temperamental lately. An' Montparnasse…I reckon 'e likes 'er."
"Interesting…" Javert murmured. There were many good things about being a gamin. You could see and hear things you were not meant to, but no one would care. Gamins were quite skilled in the art of blending into the background.
Javert opened his mouth to ask another question, but an interruption occurred in the form of an intruder to the room.
He was young, thin and tall. His dark brown hair was hidden under a hat of velvet. His clothes were well-made. Javert instantly categorized him as a dandy under some hard luck. There was a rather alarming number of them these days.
Gavroche made no moves, but Javert stood.
"What do you want?" he growled at the young man.