Funny American Suspense

(Note: There is a mention of an AK-47 in the story, and a rocket launcher)

It was a hot summer’s day at the Meringo Lighthouse in downtown Chicago. This had been hailed as the world’s first landlocked lighthouse. Built right in the center of State and Madison over the Red Line Subway station, this was an accomplishment that was both useless and vital simultaneously.

Chicago’s mayor, Brandon Lightfoot, had hailed it as a new step forward in technological progress. “You can’t think of any reason to have a landlocked lighthouse? I can think of a million reasons. It can direct traffic. We can do light shows for the big game. We can provide free lighting for people who can’t afford it. The possibilities are endless.”

The people lambasted him. How was the lighthouse supposed to direct traffic when it was blocking traffic in all directions? There were so many questions to be had. It was, of course, plumb idiotic to build a lighthouse on a landlocked street. Much less with the money earmarked for building new schools.

One night, Lightfoot made a visit to the lighthouse. He had never seen the lighthouse at night and just wanted to see what it looked like. As he approached, he saw it. A gigantic building with a large, powerful light.

As he approached the building, he looked for an intercom or some sort of way to communicate with the occupant. As he turned the corner, he saw that the door the lighthouse was completely open.

“What the?” said Lightfoot as he approached the open doorway on the south side of the building.

This was an unprecedented event, and he didn’t want to miss it due to his own squeamishness. As he walked into the lighthouse at State and Madison, he looked around. There was no one. No attendants. No security. Not even a tourist. Nobody.

“Hello! Hello!”

He proceeded to take the stairs all the way up to the light tower, not knowing what to expect. There was a feeling of high expectations as he proceeded to climb the tower. When he got to the light room at the top, he was bathed in a strong beam of light which had reflected from the bulb. He walked up to the opening and looked down.

The streets were empty. He turned the light to look directly down Madison Avenue. Nothing. Simple enough. But suddenly, things weren’t so simple. In looking, he saw a group of men running down State Street, going north. A few were carrying AK47s. One was carrying a rocket launcher. They each had an insignia on their shoulders, an insignia that Lightfoot would know anywhere.

“Oh my God! Houthi rebels! Oh my God! What do I do? How do I…?”

Lightfoot looked around. There had to be something that he could use to alert the authorities about what had happened. But wait. Wasn’t he an authority? Lightfoot found a phone and proceeded to dial the Chicago FBI headquarters on the south side. Hopefully, they were still open.

“Come on. Come on. Pick up. I pay your taxes.”

After a few rings went by, then some festive music, followed by a singing voicemail message.

“It’s the FBI, but I’m not at the phone. Please call again when I’m back at home. If it’s an emergency, call 9-1-1. I’ll be back soon. I’m not at the phone!”

“Oh, for the love of Chitown!” said Lightfoot. “Where are the Men in Black when you need them?”

Mayor Lightfoot then proceeded to leave a message. He wasn’t sure if his intended audience would find it well, but he wanted to warn somebody. After all, maybe if the Houthi rebels saw him on the phone, they wouldn’t disturb him.

“Jeeper creepers, Batman! We’ve got one huge problem in Chitown, and it’s about to get even bigger. Houthi rebels have taken over the streets of our beloved city. Right in the heartland of the good old US-of-A. Can you believe it? I can’t. Come to the lighthouse at State and Madison if you dare.”

Just then, a hand reached over and pulled the phone from Lightfoot’s hands. Looking up, Lightfoot saw a man covered in a shawl with a rag wrapped around his head and face. A Houthi Rebel insignia planted on both of his shoulders.

“What?” said Lightfoot.

“What do you mean what?”

“What? What did I do?”

“What did you do? Were you cheesing on us?”

“On you? I would never tell on you.”

“Good. Who were you calling? Your mother?”

“It could have been my girlfriend.”

“Pfft. Yeah, right.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“Look, we run this country now. You might as well tell me where your nation’s capital is.”

“You got all the way to State Street Chicago and you don’t know where the nation’s capital is?”

“I was raised in a terror camp, okay? It’s not Julliard.”

“Well, look who needs who now. Little old Brandon Lightfoot’s finally useful to somebody. Who would’ve thought?”

“You’d better spill the beans. I’ve got a cat-and-nine tails in the garage.”

“Uh-huh, and where would this garage be?”

“Somewhere in Yemen. You’d better be careful. I have frequent flier miles and I know how to use them.”

“So, Mr. Bond, how would you like to proceed?”

“I’d like to proceed by finding your nation’s capital.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“As sure as a heartbeat.”

“Don’t you mean ‘serious as a heart attack?’”

“Again. Terror camp. Not MIT.”

“Okay, okay, okay, let’s backtrack here…”

Just then, the lighthouse phone started ringing. Lightfoot and the Houthi rebel exchanged a knowing glance.


“You can pick up the phone. Just be very careful of what you say.”

Just then, Lightfoot picked up the phone. He didn’t know what he’d say or how it would be received. How was he even still alive?


“You know, it’s a felony to leave a voicemail with the FBI. Especially sounding like Jiminy Cricket.”

“This is an emergency.”

“Yeah, we heard. Houthi rebels. Look, we’re kind of far away from Madison Avenue, so could you, like take care of it for us?”


“Well, I mean, you’re already there. We’ll back you up if you need to give anyone a swollen lip. Just go ahead and be a man or a woman…”

“I’m a man.”

“Okay, then. Be a man and take care of the rebels.”

“Sure, I’ll take care of them.”

And that he did. Mayor Lightfoot spent the next 13 hours running a day/night spa for the Houthi rebels out of the lighthouse at State and Madison. He specialized in manicures, pedicures, massages, and a little bit of joint cracking.

The rebels were happy.

March 03, 2024 18:31

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12:01 Mar 16, 2024

It's absolutely bizarre and absurd – and I mean that in the best possible way, John. I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen next. This is hilarious stuff. Way to keep the reader guessing and laughing!


John Jenkins
19:58 Mar 16, 2024

I'm so glad you liked it. Always the risk-taker, aren't I?


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Graham Kinross
21:07 Mar 11, 2024

Great story John. Well done.


John Jenkins
13:42 Mar 12, 2024

Thanks. I'm so glad you liked it! I want to start writing novels again!


Graham Kinross
22:05 Mar 12, 2024

You should. Go for it.


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Mariana Aguirre
17:41 Mar 10, 2024

Love it 👏👏👏


John Jenkins
01:53 Mar 11, 2024

Thanks! I'm so glad you loved it!


Mariana Aguirre
01:57 Mar 11, 2024

Np 😁 I love it alot u deserve more comments and likes


John Jenkins
13:43 Mar 12, 2024

Thanks! I want to start writing more novels now!


Mariana Aguirre
15:21 Mar 12, 2024

Ofc go head😁


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