CHAPTER 25
The cheery woman tilted her head and stared at her.
“Really? How strange.” Andrea said, moving closer.
Jasmine nodded and continued. “Yeah. How familiar are you with the Kizinger family?”
Her face darkened. “Truly terrible, what happened to them.” She said with a sigh. “But why do you want to know about them?”
Jasmine considered her options carefully. There was probably no way to let Andrea know that they worked for the government now, especially since they had told her they were tourists. Something told her that Andrea wouldn’t exactly be a fan of liars.
So what else could she do?
She’d have to take a gamble.
“We’re… acquaintances with Mathis Kizinger, we met him in a… restaurant. Agnes and I just want to let them know he’s alright.” Jasmine finally declared. She was glad Oppenheimer had given them the names of every family member.
She could almost feel the daggers Agnes was staring at her.
Andrea blinked. “Oh, I remember Mathis, he always came by for snacks as a kid. How’s he doing down there? Still working hard, I presume?”
“Well, he’s doing his best, but he did say he didn’t have the opportunity to call his parents after the attack.” Jasmine was mentally crossing her fingers and gripping her glass tight.
“Roger and Bertha are quite busy with their bar, so I suppose that makes sense. Plus, Mathis did say he never wanted anything to do with them when he left, you should have been there, it was this whole ordeal— obviously, they get along better now but—”
Agnes cut her off. “So if you could point us in the right direction, and we’ll be on our way? It’d be nice if we could let them know as soon as possible.”
“Well, you just got there. Surely you can stay awhile?”
“We’d love to come back when we get this done.” Jasmine clarified.
She saw Andrea deliberate for a few seconds.
“Very well.” The woman finally agreed. “To be honest, they’re quite hard to miss. Roger lives in his bar, on the second floor, with Bertha. Stefen— their second son— he teaches at the high school.”
“What about Mathis’ grandparents?”
“If you know better, you will leave them alone.” Andrea answered quickly. “Are you sure you’re Mathis’ friends? Didn’t he tell you about them?”
Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. Realizing she had pushed too far, she decided to end it quickly.
“Only acquaintances that we meet once in a while. Could you tell us the name of the bar and the school?”
“Um, yes, it’s called the Twisted Sip right in the middle of Main Street. And we only have one middle school if you take this turn here…”
---
“By the way, I know I’ve said this before, but you’re crazy good at acting. Maybe you should have my power.” Agnes remarked as she walked with he hands behind her back.
The girls were making their way to the Twisted Sip.
“Nah, I was just scrambling to come up with something, don’t make a big deal out of it…”
“I mean, I did think of something similar, but I wouldn’t have done it. You’re ballsier than you look, Jazzie. Anyway, we have the locations, but now what’s the plan to get them to talk?”
“Alright, here’s what I thought about...”
---
The Twisted Sip was indeed hard to miss. It was the most prominent and full bar on Main Street, and people were streaming in and out of the establishment even though it was still the afternoon. Jasmine walked through the saloon doors and was instantly flooded by the smell of alcohol and the buzzing noise of people talking, laughing, and drinking. She walked on the creaking wooden planks toward the barman standing behind the counter. He was a slim man with a head somewhat too big for his body. He was balding but had remnants of chestnut hair on the sides of his head, along with a well-trimmed beard. Jasmine went straight for him, recognizing that he was Roger Zimmerman from the picture.
She mentally prepared herself. If the plan was going to work, she had to ooze confidence.
“Mister Kizinger? A moment of your time.” Jasmine said, raising her tone.
The people sitting at the bar and the barman himself all turned to look at her.
“That’s me. Want a drink? I’ll need your ID.” Roger Kizinger told her as he cleaned a glass.
“No, I’m here to ask you a couple of questions?” She said, pulling out a badge from her bag. “Jasmine Mertz, from the TIA?”
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Instantly, the ambiance around those that could hear what she said turned sour.
“What the fuck are you doing in my bar?” He asked, putting his glass down firmly in front of her.
A few months ago, Jasmine would have flinched. “Calm down, I don’t want to cause a fight.”
“I won’t ask again. Get out!” The barman yelled out, slamming the counter. “I don’t want none of you government lackeys in here.”
“I have your nephew with me.” She kept going, not letting up for a second.
“You lie.”
“No, I’m telling you the truth. I can have him come here right now if you clear out the bar.” Jasmine continued, her voice almost trembling. Guilt was starting to creep in.
“I’m calling the police.” He spat out. “They hate your kind even more than I do around here.”
“Adam!” Jasmine screamed.
Agnes— who was in the form of the scrawny man appeared at the entrance of the bar. That scream had attracted the attention of everyone in the small establishment, and they all turned toward her, and then him. Roger dropped the towel he cleaned his glass with and stared at his nephew, completely gobsmacked.
“I need your help to make him talk, mister Kizinger. Or at least help me by answering the questions I need to ask.” She continued, not letting up the pressure.
“I— how? How did you find him?”
“Clear out your bar.” Jasmine repeated, staring him straight in the eyes.
The barman paused to think, and then yelled. “Everyone out! I’m closing early, the drinks are on the house!
“Thank you.” She whispered.
As soon as his clientele had all vacated the building, Roger strode toward Adam, his pace quickening the closer he was. Jasmine expected him to go for a hug or a pat on the shoulder, but instead, he went for a punch straight to his nose, which Agnes promptly avoided with a step back.
“You little shit!” He screamed, flailing wildly at Adam. “You never should have left! Do you have any idea of how— how worried your aunt was?”
“I’m… sorry.” Adam muttered.
“Look at me in the eyes when you speak to me, son.” The barman growled.
Jasmine intervened, placing herself in the middle of the two. “Please calm down, mister Kizinger. Let’s just all take a seat and talk it out, yeah?”
“What are you going to do with him?” Roger continued, ignoring her. He didn’t take his eyes off Adam for even a second.
“For now, I just need to ask you questions regarding his departure months ago. He won’t talk.”
“Where did you find him?” He kept going.
“Mister Kizinger, I promise you I will answer what you need to know as soon as you help u— me.” Jasmine said. “Now, let’s sit.”
He looked at her, grunted, and then sat at the closest table. Jasmine and Adam followed suit. The girl felt very uncomfortable lying to this man about his nephew being alive, but she’d have to get over it soon.
I’m doing this for mom, she thought to remind herself of her true goal. It didn’t really help with the guilt slowly building up.
Jasmine cleared her throat. “Now, mister Kizinger, I think you’re aware that your nephew joined the Metahuman Salvation Army just a few weeks after their initial attack on the National Assembly. Am I right?”
“Allfather, I hate you TIA rats. You’re always aware of everything.” Roger said. Jasmine took that as a yes.
“You’ve had previous experience with us?” She quickly said with a frown.
“Of course. You fucking goons sent squads all over the north during the summer!”
Jasmine bit her lip. No one had told her about this, and it made things exponentially harder.
“Yes, I…didn’t think you were aware—”
He slammed the table, making a fork fall off of it. “Didn’t think I was aware? You motherfucking pigs spent the entire time here terrorizing us! The only reason I’m even speaking to you is because I want to know what the fuck happened to my nephew.”
She shot a look at Adam, and he instantly got the signal. “I’ll tell you everything, uncle Roger, but please calm down.”
The barman’s fury slowly left his face. “What happened to you, Adam? You’re with these fools now?” He said, looking at Jasmine.
“The MSA wasn’t what I thought it was, so… I left.”
“Damn right, it’s not what you thought it was, you hard-headed moron. I warned you so many times, Adam, and you still didn’t listen to me. I thought I had lost you.”
Jasmine felt a ball form at the back of her throat. For mom. “Your nephew won’t speak with the TIA, because he fears the MSA would find and kill him, which is why I came to you.”
She paused, waiting for an outburst of anger. There was none, so she continued.
“When was the first day your son came into contact with the MSA?”
Roger’s eyes darted to his nephew as he sighed. “July seventh, two days after the attack at the capital. There were these shady folk— twenty of them or so I think who came into town. For the first couple of days, they didn’t do much. We just noticed they were speaking with some kind of really bizarre accent—”
“Saverian?” Jasmine added.
“Could be, what, do I look like a fucking linguist to you?” He said, clearly annoyed. “But like I said, they were fine at the start, but right after the attack in Adelind, they started talking shit about the government and Gessner’s regime. I mean, I agreed with them at first. Our region’s been neglected for decades because they’ve been phasing out coal, and now our cities are shells of their former selves…”
The barman abruptly stood up and walked toward the counter. He opened his fridge and grabbed some kind of drink along with a cup. Roger put three ice cubes in his glass and poured the drink, then he strode back and sank in the chair.
He drank. “Ah, nothing better than some old gin to take the edge off. After a while though, the anti-government messaging slowly turned into pro-MSA bullshit, and that’s when they lost almost all of us. All except a few, including Adam here.”
“And these individuals.” Jasmine said, taking out a notepad and a pen. “Were they metahumans?”
“No, or if they were they didn’t show it. I sure hope they weren’t, we don’t want that kind of people here.”
Jasmine ignored the casual racism and continued. “So they were normal humans, then, alright. Did they try to recruit you?”
“They tried to recruit everyone that wasn’t too old or too young.”
“What was their method to try to get to you?” She asked.
“Indoctrination, like I said.” Roger quickly answered, slowly raising his voice.
“Can you somehow be more precise? Like what did they say specifically?”
“Fuck off.”
So that was a no. Jasmine sighed.
“Going back to your nephew, were you there when they spoke to him?” She said, trying to reset the conversation.
“Most of the time, no. He’s an adult, I couldn’t just lock him in the house.” The barman said. “But it was disconcerting. They’d keep saying how metahumans were superior and deserved to rule the world or whatever and he just gobbled it up like a fucking idiot. Even when I banned them from my bar, he’d find ways to speak to them, and since they technically weren’t doing anything illegal the police couldn’t arrest them. Allfather, he’s so stubborn. Just like his father was.”
Jasmine nodded. “Now, can I get a physical description of the MSA members that you remember? And their names, if they gave it to you.”
Roger spent the next hour slowly describing and naming the people he could remember, but the names he gave could be fake. And she couldn’t bar the existence of a shapeshifter like Agnes.
“Thank you for the help, mister Kizinger, we’re almost done.” Jasmine said. Her right hand and wrist were hurting from all the writing. “Could you tell me where they stayed during their… trip in Halselt?”
“Only one place to stay here nowadays. At the Mountainside Motel.”
Jasmine closed her notepad and put it back in her backpack. “Thank you very much for your help, sir. We’ll be leaving now.”
“Wait, what about Adam?” He stopped her.
“Oh, right.” She said, mentally facepalming. “She— he can—”
“I’d love to stay, uncle Roger, but I’m not allowed to. I have to be monitored by a TIA agent at all times while she gathers information.”
“But—”
Adam was already up and about. “I’ll come to see you tomorrow with agent Mertz, and then we can talk longer. I’m sorry!” He said, practically running out of the pub.