Landis, Jonathan
JOURNAL ENTRY 04

After being prompted by the invitation on television, I'm parking a few blocks from the Twin Towers and walking steadily under the miserable reign of the California sun. The broadcast ending moments before, the crowds have only begun to disperse. I make a largely unsuccessful effort to worm my way through the tapestry of media parasites and end up taking a seat on the sidewalk, doing my best not to think.

What seems like an hour passes, and most of the vermin have either pulled out in expensive eco-friendly cars or wandered down the street. The immense gates are still wide open, and a few feet inside some men are dismantling the stage used for the press conference. Armed military guards are scattered about, and Belial is lowering his head on the lengthy vine of his neck to give interviews with various radio and magazine outlets. I make an advance in his direction before promptly being stopped by one of the soldiers.

"What's your business, sir?" The soldier asks behind impossibly black sunglasses.

I squint into his face, trying to find his eyes behind the opaque lenses, then lean back, giving up, and say, "I want to talk to Belial."

To this he responds by quickly grabbing his walkie-talkie, mumbling into it between noisy bursts of static and jarring high-frequency beeps. I'm staring at the blinking light on the device when Belial's head suddenly lowers between the two of us like a bionic arm.

"Will this gentleman be our first..." He tilts his head, sneers. "Walk-in?"

"Says he wants to talk to you, sir," the soldier recites mechanically.

"I will," I butt in, raising my hand involuntarily as if to be called on.

"Well then!" Belial suddenly shouts, clapping his hands together. He leans down into my face and says, "Welcome aboard, Mr...?"

"Landis," I answer. "I'm Jonathan Landis."

"Well, Johnny Boy. Why don't you go on in?" He points a long, curved claw at the facility entrance. "Elissa will sign you right up. I might have a job just for you."