Chapter 66: War Dog

I poured alcohol for the man with dull blond hair and a scruffy beard. Then I praised him and poured more.

Added some snacks, kept him drinking.

Once he was feeling good, he agreed to take the job.

“Well then, we’re settled.”

“Ueeeh… leave it to meee…”

That’s how you get a bargain-rate deal out of a hound—a search hound, to be precise.

“Gyaaah! Master’s passed out drunk! Hey! Hound! What the hell did you do?! We’ve got work right after this!”

His apprentice pup was yapping about something, but I ignored it and took a seat at the Doggie House counter.

“What’d you hire the Search Dog for?”

The man behind the counter—shaped like a potato, as always—slid me a glass without asking.

Ivory liquid. I tilted it, watching the thick, slow movement.

“Nothing serious. Personal business.”

“I didn’t order this,” I added.

“New recipe,” Potato Man said flatly. Which meant: try it and give feedback.

I took a sip. Cold potato soup. I’d been expecting a drink, so it caught me off guard.

“Not bad.”

“Well, you’ll eat anything.”

“How rude.”

I don’t eat everything. Just the edible stuff.

“So, what do you need, Hound?”

“I’m looking for work. Bounties.”

“Just you? What about the shepherd pup?”

“Eevee and I. Shinzo’s busy working with his parent pack.”

“Mobility might be a problem… why not use those mercenaries you brought in?”

“If it doesn’t change the kind of jobs we can take—sure,” I said.

I could use them, I thought. But that’s not what you mean, is it?

“You’re arrogant.”

“I’m a dog.”

Growl, growl.

Pack hierarchy must be kept clear.

“You need money?”

“As usual.”

“If you don’t mind working with others, I’ve got something big.”

“How big?”

“The client’s not picky about the fee. Twenty million total, split by teams—your cut, ten million.”

“Now that sounds good.”

Lovely.

Potato Man sent me a message. “Letter of introduction,” he said.

***

A Tank Dog.

In its original sense, the term referred to dogs trained to carry explosives and blow themselves up beneath enemy tanks. But the Tank Dogs belonging to Doggy House were not like that.

When I went to the coordinates Potato Man had sent me, I found a single tank sitting in the wasteland—painted in desert camouflage that blended perfectly with the sand.

A real tank, too. No Monoz integrated into it. Rare sight these days.

“Ah, you’re lovely, my Kitty. Sweet, sweet Clarissa.”

And sprawled naked across its hull was a man.

His everything was at maximum.

I’d seen plenty of strange things in my time, but even so… in this era, apparently “public indecency” wasn’t a crime.

Despite being in plain view, the man caressed the tank with a melting, enraptured look. Whether or not it was a response, the tank—Clarissa, as he called her—shuddered beneath his touch. That only seemed to excite him further.

“Mmnn—ahhh…” he moaned, making sure I heard every note of a sound I never wanted in my ears.

People naming their guns or tanks after women isn’t new. But treating one like a woman—this was new.

And frankly, it was something I could’ve gone my whole life without seeing.

“Toji, look. A pervert.”

Eevee tugged at my sleeve, pointing.

“I’d rather not.”

I turned my head away and scratched my scalp. I wanted no part of this. But that was, without a doubt, one of my own kind—a colleague.

A Tank Dog.

Tank Dogs from Doggy House were mercenaries who piloted tanks—not modern Monoz-style machines, but old-world beasts, though still more advanced than anything from the era I was born in.

“Tank Dog.”

“Ahh, ahh, Clarissa! Holy spirit of the spring wind, none are more beautiful than you!”

“…If she’s so beautiful, maybe don’t ‘display’ something so filthy on top of her.”

Should I cut it off for him?

“Hey, kid. Quiet down. I get that you’re at that age where you want to peek at lovers whispering sweet nothings, but Clarissa’s shy. Proper manners would be to avert your eyes, wouldn’t they?”

Ah, Clarissa—yes, even your blush is adorable.

His syrupy voice almost disappeared into the rumbling of the tank.

I was already tired of this.

“My apologies,” I said dryly. “Where I come from, men lying naked atop tanks with unimpressive erections weren’t considered to be ‘whispering sweet nothings.’ Call me when you’re done.”

While its master was “busy,” one of the Monoz working on maintenance came over, giving me a small bow of apology on his behalf.

I handed it my contact code, turned on my heel, and dragged Eevee with me toward a nearby café.

An hour later, the man appeared—this time dressed, in field fatigues.

“Sorry, Hound. Clarissa just wouldn’t let me go…”

He looked refreshed. Almost gentlemanly, even.

“No problem. …Had lunch yet?”

“Not yet. Let’s eat here, might as well go over the mission while we’re at it.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah!”

At his answer, Eevee shifted from the opposite seat to slide in beside me—fork still in her mouth. Don’t move while chewing. It’s bad manners.

“Hey, woman. Stay put. You think I’d sit where you were? What if your scent rubbed off? Honestly, this is why women—”

Tank Dog said it with every ounce of disgust he could muster, face twisted like he’d bitten a lemon, then promptly sat down next to me. Don’t. Sit. There.

“—?”

Eevee froze, not sure how to respond to the sudden hostility.

I plucked the fork from her mouth, speared her pancake, and handed it back. She chewed quietly, and once she’d gotten some sugar in her system, seemed to reboot. She sat down again with a soft thunk.

“That your girl, Hound?” Tank Dog asked. “You poor bastard. You don’t know real love. I’ll teach you what it means. Listen carefully, yeah? —Ride a tank.”

He said it while passing me a Zippo and sticking a cigarette between his lips. “Mm.” Light it—that was clearly the meaning. …What was with this guy?

I lit the cigarette. And, while I was at it, burned a bit of his fringe.

The man yelped, swatting at his hair. The sharp, acrid smell of burning filled the air.

“You’re a cheeky one, huh?”

“Your praise honors me.”

Utterly without sincerity, I said it while munching on a fry.

“Good. Good! I like you. I’ll let you ride my Clarissa.” Tank Dog grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “You’ll do. We can work together. You’re in, Hound. Now—let’s talk business!”