If Cormac McCarthy Wrote the Grasshopper and the Ants

In the warm days of summer, Grasshopper woke from a bad drunk after crashing in an empty Lone Star beer can. He munched a clover leaf in an attempt to clear his head but it was no good so he picked up his fiddle. He was halfway through his warmup exercises when he saw a line of ants, each straining under fallen seeds and dried fruit six-times their weight.

Oy, what are you doing? Grasshopper asked.

Storing food for the winter, the first of two ants, struggling with an acorn, said. He wiped his brow with his five legs, the sixth being lost in a bar fight in Abilene. Summer isn’t going last forever, you know, the second ant said and the two resumed their journey.

Grasshopper picked up his fiddle. The conversation caused him a great deal of cognitive dissonance. He worried that he should prepare for winter but the ants were drones, who wouldn’t understand passion if it bit them on the thorax. Besides, he’d just about mastered the chords for The Devil Went Down to Georgia. He began to play and a centipede stopped to listen.

You hear about that lady bug? the centipede asked after Grasshopper completed Venus in Furs.

No, what happened?

She choked to death on some moldy rye, the centipede said.

That’s horrible! Grasshopper suppressed a grin. 

The tragedy reinforced his world view. Finally, he had an argument to shut those stodgy ants up. There was no point in preparing for winter because the food would spoil anyway. He played a few chords of the Ode to Joy and left to enlist Bullfrog’s help.

***

Bloody diarrhea! Projectile vomiting! Fever! Dehydration! Electrolyte loss! These are the dangers of old food, Bullfrog croaked at sunrise. The insects paid so much attention that he croaked his message three times a day.

The ants argued that May flies and June bugs died from natural causes but no one listened.  As a fresh-food advocate, Grasshopper’s career skyrocketed and he kicked back some of his profits to Bullfrog. At each sold-out concert, he played the theme from Schindler’s List in memory of the dead. And the groupies! Dozens of lady bugs lined up outside his dressing room eager for a few minutes of inspiration. Then he received his highest honor, an invitation to play at the High Council of Cockroaches.

***

We must act to prevent food poisoning. The head cockroach wobbled his greasy antennae. Play us a tune while we confer.

Grasshopper played Schindler while the cockroaches traded political favors.

A decision has been made, the head cockroach concluded. In the interest of saving lives, all stored food shall be banned under penalty of death. He turned to Grasshopper. As a reward for your civic virtue, I present you with this medal. Another cockroach whispered in his ear. What? We gave the medal to an assassin bug? A hum. As a reward from your civic virtue, I present you with this stale cracker.

***

Wasps fanned out across the land to confiscate stored food and stung anyone withholding. Being wasps, they stung many who turned in their food as well. Innocent and guilty alike died, gut stung, bloated, begging for water, and their carapaces withering under the brutal sun. In celebration, Grasshopper held a victory concert. Accompanied by a chorus of crickets, he played REM’s It’s the End of the World as We Know It to an audience of beetles, millipedes, earwigs, butterflies, and water striders.

***

When the hard frost came, the ants were first to go, a small mercy, really. At least, they didn’t live to witness the depravity their neighbors sunk into.  After weeks of hunger a mob of stink bugs gathered to raise a stink outside Grasshopper’s home.

You betrayed us!

What will our larvae eat now?

Grasshopper muscled through the crowd and ran to Bullfrog.

We have to tell everybody that it’s the ants’ fault, Grasshopper said.

What do you mean we? Bullfrog shot out his tongue and ate Grasshopper. It was a tasty appetizer but a growing frog needs protein so he turned to cannibalism. The tadpoles, tree frogs, and leopard frogs lasted through mid-December. Then Bullfrog died wracked with guilt and suffered eternal damnation as an entrée in a French restaurant. Each night a chef amputated Bullfrog’s legs and fried them in butter. They grew back the next morning to return on that night’s menu.

The other insects starved. Their bellies swelled, they grew weak, and had trouble concentrating until they hallucinated and died. Only cockroaches survived, fat and happy living off the food they’d confiscated from the others.

A toast to that fiddler who brought us this bounty! The head cockroach raised a glass of honey seized from bees who were by now dead. I couldn’t have thought of a better scam, myself. What was his name, again? No one remembered. Well, screw him, then. Let’s have another round of drinks.

Civil Sex

Commentator: If ladies were only ladies, and gentlemen, still gentlemen, this is how it would play out…

She is luxuriating in her bed as he approaches, coming from his bedroom.

He: May I join you?

She: You have only to ask, love.

He: I would further request–

She: I thought you’d never ask. Of course.

He: I’m having trouble. It’s a little tight down there.

She: Don’t worry. I’ll provide some liquidity.

He: It’s working. With a bit of a push, I’ll be in.

She: There. I think you’ve got it.

He: There, I’m in. Oh, the gates of heaven have sprung for me.

She: I knew you’d succeed.

He: It’s warm.

She: I’m sure that’s the way you like it.

He: Ah! The squash of unwashed don’t know what they’re missing.

She: Now, that I’ve got you by your nether parts, it’s a thrill.

He: No. I don’t mind it a bit. This is bliss.

Commentator: And that’s how it’s done among the upper classes.

Alibi

An urgent knock came to the front door of my apartment just as I finished giving Private Ernesto Salazar the best blowjob of his life.

Holy shit, Salazar exclaimed sitting up from his prone position at the center of my bed. He helped me up from a position on my knees. That was the best blowjob of my life!

As a second knock sounded, I ran to the bathroom, my new breasts bouncing. I caught my reflection and smiled. Bouncing breasts were new to me. Of course, I also frowned when I noticed my worthless penis. Whatever, I muttered.

Wiping Pvt Salazar’s cum from my lips, I pulled on a floor-length silk kimono and turned for the door.

Police! Open up. Urgent but not demanding.

I noticed a nervous look on Salazar’s face, as to why I could not guess, and I motioned him to stay in the bedroom.

I’m AWOL, he whispered.

Of course, you are. I shook my head and left him cowering.

At the door I took a breath, synched my kimono tighter, and turned the knob. Two police officers in cheap suits turned to face me. One – tall, young, slender, very attractive – smiled, almost apologetically and with a hint of curiosity. The other – short, overweight, older, balding – held no expression. Both look up, noted my height, my breasts, and my lack of make-up.

Good morning, the short, round cop said, Ma’am. He said it more as a statement than pleasantry. When sitting I could nominally pass, especially with the new boobs, but standing? Forget it. Too fucking tall.

Ma’am? Really? I pulled the door wide. Honey, fucking please.

The tall, handsome cop, stifled a chuckle.

How can I help you two at this unwieldy hour?

Can we come inside? Old Detective asked.

Certainly. Pardon the mess and my freaked-out friend in the bedroom.

Friend? Young Detective asked.

Casual acquaintance, you know how it is, don’t you? I looked directly at Officer Handsome Big Bulge and he smiled, nodded at me, then crossed the threshold into my living room. Old Detective followed. Pvt Ernesto Salazar shuffled around in the bedroom, finally going into the bathroom and shutting the door.

I’m Detective Murphy and this is Detective Callahan, Old Detective gestured to Young Detective, to whom I looked at directly with great curiosity.

Please tell me your first name is Harry. I asked.

It is.

No fucking way. I put a hand to my mouth and laughed in utter delight. Sorry to curse, but that’s lovely.

My parents were fans.

So, it seems.

Can I see your gun? I surprised both of them with the question.

Detective Callahan coughed once. An odd reaction, I thought, but immediately understood his confusion. Double entendre intentional.

Your registered firearm, Detective Callahan. I am hoping for a 44 magnum. Eight-inch barrel, of course.

Of course, but no. I carry a Glock 19.

Bummer. Does your weapon have an eight-inch barrel.

Naw. It’s kind of average.

Average is good.

Is it?

Can be.

Um…what the fuck are you talking about, Callahan? Detective Murphy flush with confusion and a degree of impatience snapped. Callahan sheepishly shrugged. I pondered, a moment, Callahan’s barrel length.

So, Miss…?

Oh…yes. Sorry. I’m Jacklyn, Jacklyn Henry.

Jacklyn, Detective Murphy said. I immediately recognized the tone and that he didn’t quite accept me as a Jacklyn, even with expensive, near perfect manmade breasts, facial feminization, and ten years of HRT. Fuck my height.

Well despite your confusion, I am Jacklyn. I may have started as Jack a lifetime ago, but here I am, honey. My temper flared. Three inches short of 100% woman. I moved my hand to the opening of my robe and gestured as if to flash them my little 3” penis. Detective Murphy put a hand up and looked away, Detective Callahan stared at me expectantly. I took note.

No…no ma’am. Completely do not care. Your business. Murphy had blanched red in the face and I let a bemused smile drift across my face. I pulled my hand away from the robe opening and crossed my arms.

So, what’s the deal, gentlemen?

Do you recognize the name Anthony Paul? Detective Callahan asked.

Of course, he lives downstairs by the laundry room. Nice guy, very private but we chat from time to time.

Would you say you knew him well? Callahan said.

Well? No. I mean, if we saw each other we talked. Nothing more, really.

About? Murphy chimed in.

I don’t know. Anything, you know? Things going on. Current events. Weather. You know? Whatever came to mind. I took a few steps forward, suddenly curious and increasingly concerned. Tony and I knew each other well enough to help each other out. When I had a surgery, he would be my ride to and from, and then would care for me post-op. I took care of his cat, Lulu, when he traveled somewhere overnight. We never shared a romantic interest in one another, although we fucked on occasion. I needed a friend more than a relationship. I could count my friends on one hand.

Where were you earlier this morning, around 2 am?

I was here, Detective Callahan. In my bedroom.

Where you alone?

No, the man making all the noise in the bathroom was here. We just got back from a bar and were…you know.

Ma’am? Detective Murphy said.

Please don’t call me ma’am. Really. I finally sat in an overstuffed chair and carefully crossed my legs. I sighed. I think you can guess what we were doing.

Yes…um…yes, Murphy coughed out.

Do you want to ask him? Of course, you do. Ernesto, come out here please. Neither detective objected.

It took a second but Ernesto popped out of the bedroom. The police asked him his name and address, which he stuttered out.

Honey, these officers…

Detectives.

Detectives want to know where I was last night around two am? And they don’t care if you are AWOL or not.

Pvt Ernesto Salazar nodded in acknowledgement, then pondered his response, blushed at the recollection and shyly looked at his feet.

Honey, you actually have to say it out loud.

He looked up, his eyes wide and fearful, but like a true marine, he spoke the truth when asked by authorities. Well, most marines. We were fucking. 

There you go, gentlemen. I crossed and recrossed my legs, ala Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. Callahan caught a glimpse and grinned like a schoolboy seeing pussy the first time. We were fucking.

Callahan and Murphy traded glances. Callahan then looked at me with a bit of a twinkle in his eye. I returned the look. And Murphy just sat there trying to unswallow his tongue. Pvt Ernesto Salazar stayed silent.

And I have receipts. The tab at the bar, the Uber receipt. You can go there if you want and ask the bartender, Danny. We know each other. No way you can forget a 6’5” tranny, now can you? Flicks on University.

Callahan scribbled a note and said: I know it.

I was hoping, I purred.

Another look. Another twinkle.

So really, fellas. What the fuck? I’m guessing Tony’s dead or something?

Why would you say that?

Enough cop shows. I feigned a hyper masculine voice. We’re canvassing the area, asking all the neighbors, looking for clues. Shit like that.

Detective Callahan closed his notebook and leaned back on the couch. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and I shivered. I felt certain he had an eight-inch barrel on his weapon.

Wow, very perceptive, Jacklyn. Callahan said, and I liked the way he said my name, in his rich baritone voice. Goosebumps littered across my arms. I shivered. The room felt warm and cold at the same time.

Thanks, honey. I tried to contain my attraction but seemed to be failing.

Seriously, that is what we are doing. They found Anthony…Tony out behind the apartment building about an hour ago, deceased.

Deceased? As in murdered?

Seemingly. Murphy wanted to remain evasive so as to not give anything away that they might already know but then Callahan blurted out, gunshot to back of the head.

I sat down quickly, tears welled in my eyes. We were fuckbuddies, and I loved him, and I denied to myself that we were in a relationship. 

Callahan stood and moved in front of me, crouching down and taking my hand.

Are you going to be okay?

Yes, I’ll be fine. Just a bit of a shock.

Pvt Ernesto Salazar broke the silence by asking to be dismissed. Murphy waved him off and he quickly rushed from my apartment.

Call me, I murmured after the door shut, then laughed quietly. Story of my life.

Bar scene’s like that, Callahan said somberly.

Murphy cleared his throat.

I think we’re done here.

Detective Murphy lit out of the front door nearly as fast as Pvt Ernesto Salazar. Callahan stood up and offered me his hand, which I took. The difference in our height made me laugh.

You are a tall woman.

I am. It’s unfortunate sometimes.

Only sometimes.

Yes.

Can I get your number?

You have it? Didn’t you ask earlier.

No, that was your friend. 

I provided Detective Callahan my number and slowly closed the door as I watch Detective Handsome Big Bulge walk away.

After I locked the door, I swooned, thinking of Callahan, then fell somber when I thought about dead Tony.

I kept most of my details to myself. The cops didn’t need any help from me. Tony sold drugs, pure, uncut cocaine. He kept a very low profile, no one in the complex knew, except for me. And Tony provided what he called, samples, to me at no charge. When I had the urge. The previous night he provided three glassine button bags stuffed full of samples, something to start the engine before hitting the clubs in Hillcrest. I gave Tony the best blowjob of his life and that would be the last time I saw him. By the time Pvt Ernesto Salazar rolled up on me I had burned through most of the coke and fell into a mood of depravity, much to Salazar’s enjoyment. 

Tony had enemies for sure, but I never thought they’d kill him. The cartel that supported his trade protected him. If someone took him out, there would be a price to pay. Unsanctioned hits were frowned upon by Tony’s keepers. Whoever pulled the trigger on Tony, probably had been given his own bullet. Detective Murphy and sweet, sweet 8-inch Barrel Callahan would make no arrest.

***

When I heard the toilet flush, I opened my eyes and smiled. Detective “Confirmed 8-inch Barrel” Callahan padded naked back to my bed and crawled in. He leaned across my body and kissed me. His hand swept under the blanket and cupped my right breast.

They are perfect.

Thank you. Money well spent.

He kissed me again, mouth open, tongue darting, but my mood had not met up with his. I pulled away.

How’s the investigation going?

About your neighbor?

Yeah, Tony.

Closed.

Oh. It’s only been a week. I mean cops on TV solve a murder in an hour, so a week feels like forever.

We don’t close as many as you might think.

For real.

I spun off the bed and padded naked across the wood floor to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. I purposely left the door wide open to be nasty, and peed. Unlike Detective Callahan I washed my hands then pulled on my floor-length silk kimono.

So, we found another body a day after Tony. We think he’s the perp.

Really?

Yeah. The gun he had matched to the gun used on Tony.

Crazy.

I got back into bed and snuggled into sexy detective.

Should we go to breakfast, Callahan asked.

Oh my God yes. A breakfast date? I need to call my mother.

What?

Nothing, honey. Get your ass dressed before you change your mind.