Black Mamba

“Hello? 9-1-1?” said the frantic caller.

“Yes, this is 9-1-1, home of the Blue Jays. How may I help you?”

“My black Mamba’s stuck in a tree! Can you get it down?”

“You said your mother’s stuck in a tree? How did she…?”

“Not black mama. Black Mamba!”

“Oh…What’s your address?”

“1-2-3 Sangamon Street…”

“Yes…”

“New York, 10100.”

“Okay. And?”

“And what? That’s all I need.”

“And, do you have any polar bears, mountain lions, electric eels, dragons or sphynxes that we should know about before coming?”

“That’s at my other house. Trust me. I’m legit.”

“What is your name, by the way?”

“Stan. Stan Donohue.”

“Related to Phil Donohue?”

“We’re distant cousins.”

“Okay, Mister Donohue. I’ll be right there.”

“Wait, aren’t you going to send the firefighters with the big, red engine?”

“No, due to the government shutdown, the calling staff is out in the field as well.”

“Is that even constitutional?”

“It depends on which constitution you look at. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Ok. Thanks.”

Stan shut off his phone. It appeared things were only going to get worse from here. Why had he been so foolish? Why had he spooked his beloved black Mamba with the overgrown, grey gorilla suit that he had received as an early Christmas present? Forcing the giant killer to climb up yonder? How could he have been so extremely insensitive? How could he not have seen the consequences of his actions?

This was insane.

Judi Picoult had her work cut out for her. With a lot of moxie and a little luck, she drove down to the big house on Sangamon Street with the giant tree with the giant Mamba in it.

The Mamba itself took up half the tree! Why not just wait for the tree to collapse and take the pet back in? That thing had better start sprouting oranges soon.

Picoult arrived, parked her car in a safe spot, and took out her toothbrush.

“The Mamba’s over three,” said Stan.

“I saw,” said Judi.

As she approached the forlorn beast, she had a swagger about her that was undeniable. What was it about an animal that could inspire such unthought devotion? Such extreme character and caring?

Picoult stopped before the giant tree, with the even more giant lizard. Reptile. Snake.

Without panic or alarm, she began to brush her teeth. A crowd began to gather around her as she continued brushing each tooth, not forgetting the ones in the back or glossing over the ones in the front.

“What is she doing?” said one woman, standing next to her mother. “What is this, improv theater?”

“Better late than never,” said farmer Bradley.

Picoult continued to brush her teeth until, suddenly, she stopped. The black Mamba was unmoved, coiled in the hulking tree as a crowning noose that couldn’t be stopped.

Picoult then began to blow in the direction of the black Mamba. She blew, and blew, and blew. Each time, with slightly more strength to her lungs.

The black Mamba resisted at first. His heft was enough to stop the wind, and his confidence betrayed any attempt at capture. This was his jungle.

“Whoo! Whoo!” said Picoult, continuously blowing her fresh breath.

Suddenly, there was a change. The proud, independent black Mamba was drawn, irresistibly toward Picoult’s direction. Slowly at first, but then in torrents.

“It’s working,” said one man.

“The only time a man ever listened to a woman,” said a woman.

The giant snake slithered over to where Picoult was standing – she had already stopped blowing – and began to encircle her, taking her off her feet. They lay there, in the front yard of Stan’s house, just relaxing.

“Uh, my AIR BnB’s $35 a night…” said Stan.

“Sorry,” said Picoult, getting up.

Suddenly, Picoult’s phone rang again. She answered it.

“Hello? Headquarters?”

“We’ve got another one for you,” said the voice. “This should be a lot more exciting than playing phone tag with grandma all day.”

“What is it? A flood? An earthquake? An international terrorist?”

“We have a jumper. A doctor. Downtown Sangamon. We’ve called you an Uber. It should get you there quicker.”

Suddenly, a Porsche 911 pulled up to Picoult’s position. It was cerulean gray with carbon fiber accents and oversized wheels.

“Uh, are you sure this isn’t some Legacy prom?” said Picoult.

“Get in. Lives are at stake.”

In downtown Sangamon, there was already a crowd standing around the Harvey Beshays Hospital, the biggest hospital in the tri-county area.

“That’s him,” said a woman at the scene. “That’s Harvey Beshays!”

“Well,” said Picoult. “It looks like my work’s cut out for me.”

In the lobby, the local police were dumbfounded.

“Are you sure you’re, uh…qualified to do this?” they said.

“Of course I am,” said Picoult. “Well, I’m sprightlier than a monkey in a batting cage!”

“Okay,” said an officer. “You might want to wear a vest.”

Picoult arrived on the roof, vest on, looking like the Soccer Mom Spawn. As she walked over to where Beshays was seated, she began to breathe heavily.

“These rooves are really long.”

“What?” said Beshays. “Why would you say that at a time like this?”

“Give me a break,” said Picoult. “I’m a mother of three. Why are you here?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

“Do you want to tell me, or do I have to check your Twitter feed again?”

“She hates me.”

“Who hates you?”

“My secretary.”

“How do you know she hates you?”

“She won’t go out with me Friday night. She promised.”

“Did she really promise you?”

“Not really.”

Just then, Beshays ran and jumped off the roof. Picoult had already sprung into action, leaping off right after him. After dropping a few floors, she caught up to him midway. Having grabbed him securely from the back, she pulled the parachute cord on her bulletproof vest.

They landed safely and Beshays was taken into custody.

Soon after, Picoult made it back to the office.

“Hey boss, just had to excuse myself.”