The Web by Jonathan Kellerman Page A

Tachinid parasites were brought in and they did
the job beautifully. The following year, a particularly
voracious destructor scale was done in by the coccinellid
beetle. And I’m sure you know gardeners have used ladybugs
on aphids for years. I breed them to protect my citrus
trees, as a matter of fact.” He pointed to an aquarium that
seemed to be red carpeted. A finger against the glass made
the carpet move. Thousands of miniature Volkswagens, a
ladybug traffic jam. “So simple, so practical. But the key
is keeping them nutritionally robust.”
    We moved further up the row and he stopped and breathed
deeply. “If it weren’t for public prejudice,
this
beauty
and her compatriots could be trained to clear homes of rats.”
    Shining the penlight into a dark tank, he revealed
something half covered by leaves.
    It crawled out slowly and my stomach lurched.
    Three inches wide and more than twice that length, legs
as thick as pencils, hairs as coarse as boar bristle. It
remained inert as the light washed over it. Then it opened
its mouth wide—yawning?—and stroked the orifice with
clawlike pincers.
    As Moreland undid the mesh I found myself stepping back.
In went his hand; another pellet dangled.
    Unlike the Australian wolf, this one took the food
lazily, almost coyly.
    “This is Emma and she’s spoiled.” One of the spider’s
legs nudged his finger, rubbing it. “
This
is the
tarantula of B-movies, but she’s really a
Grammostola,
from the Amazon. In her natural habitat, she eats small birds,
lizards, mice, even venomous snakes, which she immobilizes, then
crushes. Can you see the advantages for pest control?”
    “Why doesn’t she use her own venom?” I said.
    “Most spider venom can’t do harm except to very small
prey. You can be sure spoiled Madame Emma wouldn’t have the
patience to wait for the toxin to take effect. Despite
her apparent indolence, she’s quite eager when
she gets hungry. All wolves are; they got their name because
they chase their prey down. I must confess they’re my
favorite. So bright. They quickly recognize individuals.
And they respond to kindness. All tarantulae do. That’s why
your little
Lycosa
made such a good pet, Robin.”
    Robin’s eyes remained on the monster.
    Moreland said, “She likes you.”
    “I sure hope so.”
    “Oh yes, she definitely does. When she doesn’t care for
someone, she turns her head away—quite the debutante. Not
that I bring people in here very often. They need
their peace.”
    He petted the huge spider, removed his hand, and covered
the aquarium. “Insects and arachnids are magnificent,
structurally and functionally. I’m sure you’ve heard all the
clichés about how they’re competing with us, will eventually
drive us to extinction. Nonsense. Some species become quite
successful but many others
are fragile and don’t survive. For years entomologists
have been trying to figure out what leads to success. The
popular academic model is
Monomorium pharaonis—
the
common ant. Many tenures have been granted on studies of what makes
Monomorium
tick. The conventional wisdom is that there are
three important criteria: resistance to dehydration,
cooperative colonies with multiple fertile queens, and the
ability to relocate the colony quickly and efficiently. But
there are insects with those exact traits who fail and
others, like the carpenter ant, who’ve done quite well
despite having none of them.”
    He shrugged.
    “A puzzle.”
    He resumed the tour, pointing out walking stick bugs,
mantises with serrated jaws, giant Madagascar hissing
cockroaches topped with chitinous armor, dung beetles rolling
their fetid treasures like giant medicine balls, stout, black
carrion beetles (“Imagine
what they could do to solve the landfill problems you’ve got
over on the mainland”). Tank after tank of crawling,
climbing, darting, crackling, slithering things.
    “I stay away from butterflies and moths. Too short-lived
and they need flying room to be truly