The Mercenary

Schmitty

Schmitty the ant lived on the dry side of Porkchpo Alley.  When it rained, all the water drained westward.  Water wasn't the only thing that didn't stick around on Schmitty’s side of the Alley. Take her wife Selma who, after overhearing a rat on the subway tracks talking about how much better the jobs were on the wet side, had packed up and left with their unborn eggs, a few loyal drones and the last sugar cube.   

Schmitty could have followed Selma. Schmitty should have followed Selma, but she’d been in the middle of a job and when she was in the middle of a job, her signals shut down to any ants looking to distract her - no matter that the distracting ant was her wife and the last semblance of a life she’d have beyond her job. Schmitty built tunnels using the brute force of her overdeveloped front pincers. Most ants were scrawnier than she was and that should have been her ticket to rise through the ranks of Porkchpo's tightly controlled ant population.  

But she came from a long line of sacrificial ants. Her parents had been assigned to burrow out the Grand Street expressway. It was a suicide mission as had been the assignment to burrow out the Stanton Crosswalk that got her grandfather on her mother’s side killed. All of the tunnel workers were at risk of walls caving in as the wind that brought the rain over to the wet side swept through their dusty craters and caves.  

She'd heard stories from the old timers about when the Ant Alliance, the ones in charge, used to hire young rats from the wet side to bring water over so they could build stronger structures.  During her breaks, Schmitty would sneak off to the entrance at Delancey, watching the well-to-do ants scurrying in and out of the still intact parts of Antlantia, the parts built with the help of those baby rats from the wet side.  Schmitty longed to join them, if only to get to the Alliance to make some suggestions.  

Schmitty wasn't an angry ant like a lot of the dry side tunnel workers. She just knew things could be better and for more ants than just the fifty million who happened to be born into parts of Antlantia that were built by an earlier and smarter dynasty.  The Blacks reign had been the Golden Age for Antlantia.  It was a time when even the tunnel workers were treated with respect and allowed to build homes that held together and withstood the subway winds. 

Schmitty didn’t consider herself to be an angry ant, not even after Selma had been gone for a few shifts. And so, what happened when she met Morty Frankel was as much a surprise to Schmitty as it would be for the ants who would hear about the fateful day for years to come.

Morty Frankel, a rat who lived on the wet side of Porkchpo, woke up one spring morning and decided to take a trip into Manhattan in search of a delicacy that could only be found on the dry side of Porkchpo - ant eggs fricasseed in dirt seasoned with the fish bones long forgotten by the humans who sold them above the Grand Street subway station.

Once the Q train let him off at Canal, Morty avoided the sewage pipes and stayed above ground for most of the 30 minute scurry. He was up early enough so that the only humans he encountered were too drunk or too far gone to do anything about seeing a slightly overweight rat making his way toward Grand Street. Schmitty, who was taking a break up on the street, saw Morty before Morty saw Schmitty.  

Any other day, Schmitty would have scurried back to her post and left the street to the rat and Gregg, the wino who slept on a shredded mattress at the corner until the second morning rush of commuters heaved out of the subway. Then Gregg got up and stumbled into the bar down the street. Schmitty set her breaks around Gregg and the crowds.  

But as the rat approached, Schmitty's front pincers drooped and her legs tingled. She was tired of moving along and being a good ant. If this rat wanted to eat her, then maybe that would be the best thing that could happen to her. She stood her ground.

Morty's fur was still slick with humidity from the wet side. He wasn't used to walking very far. If he had to go somewhere on the wet side, he usually flagged a garbage truck. Even though Morty was sweaty and hungrier than he'd been in hours, he bared his teeth and shook his tail in triumph. Not many rats his age made it as far as he had above ground and in daylight. He'd more than earned his right to taste the feast the dry side had waiting. If only he knew where to find it. He’d actually never ventured this far on foot and the landmarks smelled different when they weren’t mixed with a garbage truck’s haul.

After a few more steps, Morty spotted the glowing green orb that meant subway station. He waddled to the base of the stairs and sniffed at a guy dressed in what was once an expensive summer suit who was facedown on a mattress with the stuffing spilling over onto the street.  As Morty sniffed, he realized that there was an ant crouched on the metal bannister facing him. Morty squinted. The ant was black and larger than any ant Morty had ever seen. This couldn't be an ant he was meant to eat. He'd been picturing a mouthful of eggs from those little brown numbers who made trails in the mud near his garbage can.  Morty licked his left claw.  He did that when things weren't going well.  The ant seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

Now that the rat was staring at her, Schmitty realized it wasn't foaming at the mouth, but it was drenched with sweat. Not rabid, then. Just out of shape. Schmitty's heart sunk a little. She wasn't going to die today and Gregg would be waking up soon. Then the rat spoke. His voice was smoother than squeaky and his teeth were not yet yellowed thanks to a longtime diet of prime garbage scraps.

“Say, you wouldn't know where I could find some an - I mean eggs and fish bones would ya?” Morty decided to leave off the word ‘ant’ so that Schmitty wouldn't take too much offense.

Schmitty didn't hesitate before answering. “Head down into the station and follow the worker ants to the driest side of the tunnel. Say you're with sanitation and they'll lead you there.”

“Thanks. I didn’t bring any garbage with me. Seems like I should repay you though. I don’t feast like this everyday.”

“No need,” Schmitty replied.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ve got a tab over on the wet side. Dewan’s Hen House. Off the 2/3 tracks near Nevins. Say Morty sent you.”

As Morty headed downstairs, Gregg stirred. It was time for Schmitty to go and the wet side was as good as any place. Maybe she’d run into Selma. If she did, Schmitty decided she’d tear her head off. Once you condemned an entire colony to death at the jaws of a rat, what was one more dead ant - even if she was your wife? For the first time in her life, Schmitty went the opposite way she'd come. The rat wouldn't be too long and Schmitty wanted to be on the wet side before the rat was finished.

Dewan Stix, an elderly raccoon and the proprietor of Dewan’s Hen House, wasn't much of a talker or at least he had nothing to say to Schmitty after offering her a splash of hot sauce for her raw collard green leaf.  Conversation wasn't what Schmitty needed after the morning she’d had. She chewed slowly as she imagined Morty waddling down the subway stairs and taking the left through the old stationmaster's door into the hot crumbling tunnels. 

He'd find the queen last.  

Her workers and drones would be crowding the entrance to her lair, their signals scrambled into a chaotic panic as they realized one by one what was about to happen and knowing they had no defense strong enough to prevent Morty from scooping their eggs up with his tongue. Once he got a taste of the eggs, he wouldn’t be able to stop there. He’d pause, licking the crushed ants on his claws and then he’d charge ahead. Schmitty’s brothers would be guarding the queen, their grandmother. Her grandmother. Schmitty cared for none of them. Not a one. They’d had their chance to listen to her, but now they were out of chances.

Life on the dry side had taught Schmitty to hold the line, dig the dirt, feed the queen, but never to love any of it. Not even the queen who happened to be her grandmother or the guards who happened to be her brothers or the drones who could be her parents if they hadn't died in that accident when Schmitty was just a baby. Morty was cleaning all of that mess up for her.  

Schmitty gagged on the collard.  It was tougher than the Chinese greens on the dry side.  Tougher but fresher. Schmitty hadn’t woken up knowing she would be killing her entire family, but she also hadn’t woken up knowing she wouldn't.  

When Morty finally returned to Dewan's, he sat across from Schmitty licking his lips and baring his teeth. Schmitty stared at him, hoping to catch a glimpse of ant remains. To make it real. But there was nothing. Not even a stray pincer. He'd been too hungry perhaps or too hygienic. She'd heard that rats enjoyed living in filth and relished making their money moving filth for others. But lies on the dry side were easy to come by. It was the truth that came at a cost.  

As Morty sat there licking his lips, Schmitty realized that Morty wasn't going to tell her every sordid detail of his feast without her doing something for him. Never mind the fact that she'd practically set the table for him by showing him the entrance to the tunnels. He needed her for something else. His eyes gleamed as Dewan put a garbage pail full of fish heads on the table. Schmitty jumped to avoid getting crushed. Morty ate quickly and got down to business.  

"You got nowhere to go now.  I made sure. Every last one of 'em claw lickin good. "

Schmitty nodded and let him continue.

"But see, I did you a favor. That much I know. If it hadn't been me, you woulda found some other rat lookin for a taste.  I get that.  But it was me and here we are on my side of town getting things done my kind of way."

Schmitty wondered who was squeezing this rat's tail so hard he needed to prove he was a tough guy and to an ant, no less.

"I've got this job. Involves a bitch and a broad I know.  Well, the broad I work for in a bit of a symbolic kind of relationship.  She scratches my back and I scratch hers.  Not really, but figuringly.  That's all I can say for now.  You interested or do I have to finish you off too?"

Morty clicked his teeth.  Dewan dropped another pail of fish bones down and waddled away while Schmitty considered her options.  Maybe it was time to end it all.  She'd certainly been thinking about it for a long time and the wet side of town was bleaker in some ways than the dry had been.  

She hadn't seen another ant for hours and it was lonelier than she'd predicted, but there was no way she was letting this wannabe wiserat be the one who ended it. If she was going, she'd do it herself. Drowning or trampling in a crowd of commuters had always tempted her. The feeling of getting swept up in someone else's progress made her pincers twitch.

Morty wouldn't wait forever.  His breathing got heavier and his claw made its way closer to her position on the table. Schmitty skittered back slowly, not breaking Morty's gaze.  He needed her alive more than he needed to devour her.  She could see it in his eyes.  Schmitty didn't need him and that decided it for her.  

"Yeah, sure. I've got some free time.  What's the job?" 

Morty reached across the table quickly and scooped Schmitty up onto his chest.  She didn't resist.  

"Dewan, thanks for the grub.  I gotta get back to things."

"Keep those teeth sharp, my man," Dewan called out as Morty took the stairs slowly.  Less out of respect for Schmitty who was burrowed in his fur and more because he was fat and out of shape.

Schmitty saw the slick wet pavement laced with fish scraps and rotting vegetables turn dry and clean again as they made their way down the street.  She could hear a subway rumbling below them as they passed over a grate.  

There were no landmarks for her to mark their journey.  Only new everything.  Until Morty descended the stairs.  Her pincers flicked and she had an urge to detach from Morty and dig even though these weren’t her tunnels.  She shook herself.  Gently, so as not to fall out of his sweaty fur.  He kept going. Now they were past the tunnels and waiting for a subway. Schmitty listened to the din of the crowd as Morty huddled in a corner to evade human detection.  

The train arrived and Morty scurried in just as the doors were closing.  Schmitty knew she could escape at any moment.  Morty didn't really think he had her, he couldn't be that stupid.  

But they'd made an agreement in that dive over Morty's garbage pail of fish bones and Schmitty wasn't inclined to break it for a free ride on a subway to god knows where.  If she was going to escape, she'd do it closer to where home used to be.  Somewhere dry and parched.  Arid.  Not that damp dank where the rats hung out.  But retirement could wait.  First, she had a job to do.

2020 all rights reserved.