It wasn't often that he could find a good breakfast in America. Sure there were great traditions of their own and he should assimilate himself… but he did not wear a headband for a reason. Hans was quiet shocked at the Bastard's marking of him but it was only to be expected.
They were, after all, not in the prisoner taking business. He pushed his luck by getting the Apache to make a deal at all.
That was several years ago and had nothing to do with his for once decent breakfast being ruined by some boy spitting in his food. Some comedy hour was shown on the television at the edge of the diner and the boy's mother (the owner herself) was looking very ashamed.
But not the young teenager in front of him.
He'd seen that look before on two other people. His job in the war was to find people, specifically ones that would most certainly not like him. Hammersmark and Utivich, both with their own reasons to dislike him.
"You son of a bitch. You fucking killed my dad!"
"Jeremy!"
The swastika on his forehead was visible. He'd cleaned the wound so it was not as gruesome as some of the ones he's interrogated but it was still there. Aldo would be pleased to know his work was being appreciated.
"Sit down, Jeremy, and please tell me this wonderful story of yours." The kid had a straight faced temper but sat down in the booth, his mother rushing over to replace the meal and refill the coffee he'd been drinking. He lit his cigarette and took a few casual drags out of it to inspire some tension into the conversation.
"You know there hasn't been a single person in this town that has… called me out? Yes, called me out on being a Nazi. Congratulations to you on having a fine backbone. Your mother should be proud at raising such an honest child."
After years of questionings people a boy barely into his teenage years was no trouble at all to read. In fact it was even more amusing than the adults who had far more tells. The children hardly ever had anything to hide after all. Jeremy was obviously confused at why there was no straight foreword reaction.
He had, of course, seen fights break out in the diner between men so much more innocent than a him.
"Jeremy, if you don't mind me saying, are you Jewish? Or maybe a Bohemien? No?" Hans laughed and added some milk to the coffee.
"Then how have I killed your father? I have most likely never met the man." That sent him into the disgusted rage again and his fist banged on the table.
"He died when you damn Nazis bombed London!" The coffee was still warm even after the conversation had taken a minute or so longer than Hans had expected. Usually Americans couldn't' keep their mouths shut and didn't require as much to talk.
"So while you in nappies you were completely aware of your father being an ocean away, dying from a bomb. Astute, but maybe not the right answer. Disease is another, backlash from shrapnel, even falling over bored might have done it. You are so completely certain that I and my former affiliates have killed him?"
"…he did die during the bombings! Do you think he didn't?"
"No. Most likely he died a most agonizing death. But you and I, well we'll never have any way of knowing. So you can keep telling me that I have killed your father- but please, avoid spitting in the food your mother has worked hard to make- or let go of it. The Nazis are gone and you have nothing to bash over with a bat."
Jeremy didn't quiet understand what was meant by the bat, but the infamy of the Bastards had not reached civilized ears. Thank god. Hans took another puff of his cigarette, nearly at the filter. Before the boy got up from the booth, Hans took the left hand and snubbed the light in one of Jeremy's fingers.
"ARGH!"
"I expect that you'll be more selective with whom you point your finger at in the future. And allow me to assure that I am still very, very good at my job." He smiled at the horror being presented before him.
"Oh! And please, pass word to your mother that the pie was delicious."