The Bounty Hunters of Paris

[Mewt]

The Mizzie cometh ...

This is probably of not much interest to anyone, but the only fanfiction that I have that is worth reading is about Les Miserables. It is a sort of cross-over with Cowboy Bebop. I do not feel that it does my writing much justice, but I am quite pleased with my attempt at humour.


The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part One of Part One : An Inspector's Apprentice

Paris. An unusual scene is happening at the waters edge. A strange figure is pulling itself out of the river, the many layers of clothing dripping with Seine water. Standing upright, it seems like an imposing, tall man. In the dim light of the stars, the large, silver buttons on his long coat glint malevolently. Nobody else is around as far as he can see ... the fall of the people's rebellion has left the Parisians in shock. While the carnage and the barricades are being cleared up, the public remain locked away in their houses after dark (this is also to escape being volunteered for the clean-up job of a bloody revolt - not the most pleasant of things to do). It almost seems like a ghost city.

Paris. The setting of unexplainable events. Where those who have fallen are at this moment rising again ...



Inspector Javert's idle footsteps echoed throughout the desolate street. This wide, cobbled road had opened up from a narrow alleyway that had seemed to go on for miles. He had nearly tripped and fallen a number of times in his efforts to walk in a dignified manner, his back seeming to not want to straighten up properly. He tried to keep on the pavement, but his aching legs kept leading him into the gutter. However, his determination to remain respectable made him steer them back towards the houses that lined the street. As he approached the halfway point along the avenue, his ears detected a hoarse plea;

"Mmph?! Mmph mmph mmph." he heard. Indistinguishable though it may have been, he surprised himself by stopping and looking down at his feet. What he saw surprised him even more. A girl of sixteen was lying face down on the sidewalk. From this, Javert imagined that she had crawled from a nearby location and finally collapsed here. He then realised that he had accidently kicked her, thereby causing the "Mmphs". He took a step back, watching her face turn towards him.

"Why'd you kick me? Can't you see -" she stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes widening. They both recognised each other at the same time.

"You!" they exclaimed simultaneously. The girl, unafraid of the looming Inspector, stretched out a small, bony hand to him. Javert looked at it as he might a television remote, and stayed rigid to the spot (bear in mind that television remotes had not yet been invented).

"So, Eponine Thenardier, you have come to do this in the middle of night now? I suppose I'll have to take you -"
It occured to him that by commiting suicide, he had lost his job. He was no longer in the police force ... this realisation appalled him.

"Ugh ..." his stern voice faltered. Eponine frowned, although it was difficult to tell in the limited light.

"Well, are you gonna help me up, or do I have to get up myself?" she asked impatiently. She didn't receive an answer. Javert's shoulders had drooped, and he had listened but had not heard her. Groaning, Eponine dragged her tired body towards him, wrapped her arms around his lower legs, and then proceeded to use him to pull herself up. She had managed to get to a kneeling position when he noticed what she was doing.

"Hey!" he started.

"This is taking a lot more effort than it should do ..." she grumbled, looking up at his face as a hint. Sighing, he pulled her up to her feet. Eponine grinned.

"Thanks." she said with semi-gratitude. Javert suddenly took off down the street again, without warning. Eponine ran to catch up with him.

"Where are you going? Can I come?" she asked breathlessly.

"If you like." he said quietly. So, together, the odd pair made their way to the nearest police station ... about thirty streets away.


By the water, ignoring the threatening gust that influenced the inferno of swirling current in the river, two figures sat with their fishing rods, their legs dangling over the ledge they were sitting on. It was an unusual hobby, fishing in the dead of night in the River Seine, but it wasn't necessarily fish that the two men were after. It was also strange to see people out and about at that time, and the majority of Parisians put it down to either valiance or stupidity.

"Hey, Emile, did you just see somethin' over there?" one of them said presently, squinting to the far bank of the river. Emile looked, but only saw the black of the river, the quayside and the high wall in front of the Quai de la Megisserie, all merged into one.

"Nah." he said, re-adjusting his position on the cobbled ground, "There isn't anything out there, Delanoe. Just keep fishing."

"But I know I saw somethin'! Oh, oh, look - there it is again - it's a man!"
Emile rolled his eyes, toying with the idea of pushing his companion into the river and having done with it. But then he might accidently fish him out again ...

"Oh my ... he's a tall fella, ya know ... nice coat, mind you ..." Delanoe continued, straining to observe the man more closely.

"There isn't any tall man with a nice coat, so shut up!" Emile cried out, dropping his make-shift rod.

"Oh ..." Delanoe said quietly.

"What?!"

"Got a bite."



Javert arrived at the post half an hour later with Eponine trailing behind him, whimpering like a young child. There was no-one there, so they took full advantage of the blazing fireplace inside. Both of them felt weary, confused, and unnaturally cold, chilled to the inner-most core. Javert sat in the comfortable chair at the side of the fire, while Eponine was quite content to sit on the floor in front of it. Neither spoke for a while. They were both staring at the odd ornaments on the mantel-piece; two figures were in positions that Eponine had no idea about, and that Javert considered as unnecessary (needless to say, they were both virgins). It was also taking them an awfully long time to recover from that forbidding, inauspicious place. At length, Eponine spoke.

"Were you there too?"

Javert lowered his head.

"Yes."

"How did you get there? Were you killed?"

"... no." he croaked. Eponine swivelled around to face him. Both knew how ridiculous their conversation must have sounded, but it all was the honest truth. Javert began to speak, staring vacantly into the flames.

"That place we went to ... I have no doubt was ... hell. I know that I was dead, but I have served the law and righteousness all my life. It makes no sense. Why was I there?"
Eponine smiled.

"Ahh, but that never got anyone anywhere. The righteous stuff and obeying the law you did. All that and you are still considered as the bad-guy. You were only seen as a good-guy in that crappy sequel, Illusions of Time or whatever it's called. I don't think I'm in it, mind. If they could resurrect you, why not me? Eh-hem. So how did you die, anyway?" Eponine asked, ignoring the rhetorical question, her voice obscured with awe and curiosity.

"Well, I ... drowned in the river. Yes yes, deliberately. Don't look at me like that. I had my reasons."
He leaned forward in his chair, placing his hands on his cheeks, and resting his elbows on his knees. Yes, it had been a shame that he couldn't find a harness at the time, or that no friendly citizen had stepped in to talk him out of it. Then again, judging by the fact that most of the citizens were fairly poor, they probably would have simply ran off, taking his hat that he had set on the parapet with them.

"24601 ... he drove me to it. He had let me go ... given me my life. I couldn't stand it. There was no way to carry on."
He spoke as if she wasn't there. Despite this, Eponine listened intently, taking in every detail, his words, his emotions, everything. He fascinated her, quite unexplainably. When he had finished speaking, his eyes automatically focused on her.

"And you?" he said, almost as a strict order. Eponine cleared her hoarse throat, putting a hand to her neck.

"I was shot in the revolt. I was only delivering a message and all. The unfairness, I tell you. Then, when I was bleeding to death, he came and took the pain away. Oh, I was so happy to die in his arms! But, I wasn't happy to die, if you get what I mean. Yes, and then I was engulfed in that place ... hell. I am as perplexed as you are." she explained, matter-of-factly, pleased with herself at using such a word as 'perplexed'. Javert nodded. This girl didn't seem so bad. Even though she was poor and had unfortunate relations, she seemed to have some sense in her. And brain cells, perhaps. She could prove useful, he thought, if I can just get my job back. My job!
He sat upright, his mouth forming an 'o'. Eponine perked up.

"What is it?"

Javert bolted out of the chair, causing it to tumble over. He swiftly grabbed Eponine's skeletal arm and pulled her to the door. He opened it, and both of them plunged into the freezing outdoors.

To be continued ... if anyone is interested. ^^'''''

[Mewt]

Here is the second part of the first chapter. This is actually one of my favourite parts of the WHOLE fic so far. The Prefect is a psycho! You have been warned ...

The Bounty Hunters Of Paris

Part Two of Part One : An Inspector's Apprentice

The next day, Javert faced the Prefect, his hat in his hands, his head down as a sign of respect. Well, actually, it was not the Prefect. Well, alright it was, but he was new and so very inexperienced in Javert's eyes. Not to mention the fact that he disagreed with just about everything that Javert said. He was about eighty years old, hard-of-hearing, and was, to say the least, eccentric. His name, by the way, was M. Henri-Joseph Gisquet (yes, I have read the book. So there).

"So, Inspector January, what is it you want?" the old man asked. Javert made a face at the floor.

"Well, sir, I would draw your attention to the note I left for you last night, well, umm, I didn't actually mean what I said ... wrote ..."

The Prefect nodded his head ardently (or something that looked ardent - he did, after all, have a stiff neck).

"Damn right, Inspector Javelin." he said, "What was it you said about Mme. Henry? That she shouldn't be allowed to be at the entrance to the doo-dah, prison, or whatever, or as an employee at a prison, just because she is a woman? Pure fiddle-faddle."

"But, sir -"

"Poppy-cock."

"Sir -"

"Juvenile-delinquent-acy."

"... what?"

"Listen, Inspector Jamsandwich." the Prefect said, clutching onto the arm-rests of his chair and lifting himself to his feet (this took some time), "I'm going to be Frank. Or Francis, or whatever. You know, I sent you on that political mission for a reason. The truth is, I don't like you."

Javert blinked.

"Pardon, sir?"

"Oh, listen for heaven's sake, man. I don't like your backward manner, your authoritative tone, your sideburns. I hate the lot of it. Yes, I sent you to the barricades because I wanted you to get captured and shot."

"What??!"

"Nothing personal, you see. It's just been so nice here for the past few days, I mean, without you moping around all the time like some home-sick puppy. We've actually been able to get some proper work done around here, you know, with all the lovely peace and quiet. It's really hit home how much we all despise you around here."

Javert was dumb-struck. He began to mimic a goldfish.

"Stop gawping and opening and closing your mouth, Inspector J-cloth. Oooh, but I was so awfully glad when I heard that you'd resigned then killed yourself ... made my day, it did. But now" he sighed, "I'm all depressed again."

"Look." Javert said, "I am here to get my job back. Also, I have a proposition - well, it's ridiculous really - to nominate a new employee."

The Prefect sat back down again.

"Who?"

Eponine came in, her boots trailing in mud behind her.

"Hallo." she said.

The Prefect clapped his hands together.

"Well," he said gleefully, "I wish you had said that it was a young lady. We need more women on the force. And all this time I had the distinct impression that you were a sexist pig."

Javert chose to ignore that comment.

"May I have my job back, sir?" he asked impatiently.

"Oh, good heavens no. But the young lady is more than welcome to fill the position instead."

"Out of the question!" Javert growled, clenching his fists. "If I'm not allowed my job back, then she isn't allowed to join up!"

"Fine fine, suit yourself." said the Prefect, disappointment apparant in his voice.
Javert began to usher Eponine out of the door, but the Prefect called to him as he was half-way out of the door.

"Oh, and Inspector Jiffybag, I must mention that we cleared out your drawer and gave everything in it to the poor. Sorry about that, old chap."


"So what do we do now?" Eponine asked when they were outside. Javert looked up at the sky, and a strange thought occured to him. He had thought of a profession, one very similar to police-work except a little more stylish, which unfortunately was not his way of doing things. But it was the only thing he could think of.

"Let's be bounty hunters." he said.

*

They walked side by side, this new pair of bounty hunters, with people scurrying out of the way at all angles as they approached. Javert certainly was well-known for being an extremely stern authority figure, and Eponine was quite a mystery to the neighbours. Who is she? they wondered, then stopped wondering as Javert gave them a menacing look that said: I know what you're thinking. Just don't, alright?

These people probably would have recognised Eponine if she had not been merely transformed from the emaciated street-urchin to a respectable young lady in a matter of weeks. She thing she liked best about her new look (aided by Javert's now declining bank-balance) was, she decided, the socks. She hadn't had a decent pair of socks (decent meaning any) since she was about seven years old. Nearly a decade later, she was extremely thankful for them.

"I don't care if I'm no longer with the police. I'm still going to imprison 24601 if it's the last thing I do." Javert said to her as they strolled along, then realising that it very well could have been, if he had first imprisoned Valjean and then jumped into the river. Oh drat, he thought.

"Who's 24601?" Eponine asked, blinking. Instead of launching into a lengthy drawn-out story about his and Valjean's past, Javert launched into a very, very lengthy drawn-out, descriptive story about his and Valjean's past (with a lack of full-stops);

"Well it all started when he, Jean Valjean, stole some bread, a criminal offence of a high order I'll have you know, and was imprisoned for twenty odd years, he kept on trying to escape you see, and I knew him back then because I was a prison guard in my younger days, so when he was let out on parole I was still very suspicious of him, he ended up stealing a bishop's possessions, I knew I was right to be suspicious, but then he changed his name and became mayor of a town where I was sent to work in, and he harboured some whore called Fantine, whom I had previously arrested for assulting a gentleman, in his house, and I found out who he really was and confronted him, I said 'Well, are you coming?' and he said 'Give me three days to fetch the woman's child" and I said "You're joking, not on your life" so he hit me against the wall, bloody well hurt it did, and ran away, conincidently the woman died, not my fault, but the next thing I heard was that he had taken her child off your parents and moved to Paris where I had an inkling all along that he'd be, and on a side-track I had to go undercover behind the barricades but I was apprehended and they tied me up, very inconsiderate of them to tie me to a pillar, so I asked them politely to put me on a table, my legs were really aching at that point, so they did but then I saw that Valjean had also joined with those boisterous rebels and they told him to take me outside to shoot me dead, and I thought fine, I don't care anymore, but when we got outside he got out a knife instead, yes, a knife, cut me loose and let me go, but I wasn't having that, I caught him and was going to take him off to prison when I had this great idea to commit suicide and so I did, and now I'm standing out here with you hoping to imprison the thief once and for all so I can go home and rest my poor aching head and perhaps order some more snuff." he said. Eponine, out of habit, blinked again.

"Oh." she said. While Javert tried to get his breath back, two men who were standing in the alleyway four metres away grinned at each other.

"Oooh, Emile, did you hear that story ..."

"It was bloody marvellous, Delanoe."

"Such a good imagination he's got, such an original tale ..."

"Got a good story-telling voice, too."

"Yeah, he didn't pause for a second -"

"No no, it's because he's got a wossname, baritone voice."

"What's that then?"

"You know, all deep and stuff, something like that anyway, I can't really explain it ..."

Javert and Eponine had been listening to all this, and she could see the hot anger bubbling up from the soles of his boots to far beyond the reaches of his hat. It probably got high enough to give the cloud that passed over at that moment heat-stoke. Javert did a quick 180 degree (he was that precise) spin to face the two aggravators, who cowered. Delanoe was a tall young man, but not as tall as the Inspector. More like a tall, gawky youth than a tall, broad-shouldered man-of-experience like Javert

"Enjoy my life story that much, did you?" he growled. Emile and Delanoe yelped and ran away, down the alley.

"Whoa, that scary stuff might come in handy one day." Eponine murmured. Javert turned back to her.

"What was that?" he said.

"Nothing ... hey, so should we start to look for this Valjean guy, then?" she asked, changing the subject dramatically.

"Yes." Javert said, but somehow, he got the impression that Valjean would be the least of his problems in the upcoming few weeks.





How right he is ...