❛ dankeschön, herr. oh, were you ?? everyone says my britishness always jumps out. ❜ of course harry hart did believe his german was impeccable — he had learned it 40 years ago, a wee lad who could see patterns really well. he still remembered reading all of these grammar books, german and french. dad said i should focus on school, but i digressed, reminisced he. the kingsman looked around, looking for employees that weren’t the younger man — but no one was there. ❛ indeed, i am a tailor. ❜ or something like it, he thought. ❛ well, whatever tailors cut. ❜ skin, for example. with bullets. ❛ fabric. ❜ bulletproof fabric. ❛ do you germans have a different material to cut ?? ❜ joked harry.
———❝ MY LITTLE SHOP RARELY GETS CUSTOMERS. in fact, i’m only here to fill in for the absence of my assistant. ❞ he smiled, dodging the previous question like it had merely confirmed his fears. slow, the man walked as though naturally headed for the back of the shop. lifting the divider, a hand lingered beneath the counter top as he counted the bills left in the register. this was one of his more vulnerable places, too close to home and far from his other occupations.
❝ so tell me, who do you work for? ❞
———❝ YOUR GERMAN IS IMPECCABLE. i was surprised when you said you were english. ❞ it was a smile he had spent time perfecting. folding over sleeves and hanging merchandise, the tailor hadn’t even intended to be at the small berlin shop that day. it was a small business located at the former east side of the city, a shop he’d created in his twenties and passed on to friends and employees. his managing assistant had called in sick that day, along with three of his employees. something didn’t seem right — he hadn’t closed for that very reason.
❝ you said you were a tailor as well? in german, that word translates to a cutter. tell me, sir… what is it that you cut? ❞
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