One-Eyed Jack

by Kristi Belcamino

  He was divorced. He loved yoga and running. He was close to his son and daughter, both in their thirties. His six granddaughters adored him. He paid for a family trip to Italy every year, and all eleven of them stayed in the same villa. They spent weeks on end eating good food, swimming, sailing, soaking up the sun. It was the highlight of his year. They were all still there, but he’d had to fly to Miami to close a business deal.

  “Where’s the villa?” Eva had a hunch. She’d assumed he rented a villa when he first mentioned it, but as soon as he said the name, Villa D Seravezza, it all clicked.

  It was just down the beach from her place. She’d heard a very wealthy British man had bought the place, named for the village in Tuscany where the original owners had been from. She knew it well. It was lower on the hill then her villa and had wide stone steps leading to the beach and a sheltered swimming cove.

  Sometimes on her walks, she’d hear the delighted screams and laughter of children right across the rocky outcrop that separated her beach from theirs. It had always filled her with both joy and a piercing sadness that struck at her core and made her gasp with pain. Her own children would never laugh again.

  “You know it?”

  “Oh yes,” she said.

  “Do you live close by?”

  “Yes.”

  There was that look in his eyes again, as if he were remembering or trying to remember something. She’d tried to keep a low profile about what went on in her villa behind the massive stone walls, but there’d always been rumors.

  He said something else just as the pilot announced they were making their final descent. When it became quiet again, he said.

  “I’ve just spent several hours with you,” he said. “And yet I still know absolutely nothing about you. Except your name—Lucia.”

  Which was a fake one—her middle name. It was too bad, too. He was very intelligent and had an ease and confidence about him she found extremely attractive.

  Eva gave him a small, sexy smile. “Really?” But inside she was thinking, Mission accomplished.

  6

  Sebastian/Username: ChadHater

  His plan was falling in place.

  Those idiots on Incel Nation had not only thrown thousands of dollars at him, they’d helped him get plastic surgery so he looked like a goddamn Chad now. Their funding had helped him get the weapons, a job that would give him front row access, and basically create a foolproof plan to pull off a mass shooting of epic proportions.

  Instead of ER, future generations of incels would speak about Sebastian Lowe.

  He would become a legend.

  Already, he was planning on how to blend into society. Because what those morons on the nation didn’t realize was that he’d decided he wasn’t on a murder-suicide mission like Elliot Rodger or the other shooters. He was going to live. He would wear a mask for the shooting and then he would slip into the crowd and blend in. The thought gave him goosebumps. He would blend in because now, of all crazy ass things, he was almost good looking.

  His five appointments with Dr. Frank had worked. He had one more appointment scheduled for the following week. His jaw and cheekbone implants were fantastic. He still needed some more work done, but not much. A few small touches and he would be—dare he say it?—handsome.

  He would probably already be considered so by most incels. He was better looking than most Normie’s—average-looking men. But he wanted to become the ultimate Chad. A motherfucking chic magnet.

  He’d forever be grateful to Dr. Frank. One day, he might even share photos of his new face with the incel community to show just how amazing the doctor was.

  ER was their saint.

  But Dr. Frank was their god.

  He’d flown into Chicago for weeks at a time to get the surgeries, then recovered there before flying back to Miami.

  He’d leave his life as an incel behind once he became a legend.

  As much as he wanted to play some Death Run and watch porn, he had to show up at work. It was all part of his plan. It was only his second week on the job. He fucking hated the work. He ironed his stupid black slacks and white shirt and polished his black shoes. Today, he would make an excuse to get the keys to the door in the garage that led into the auditorium. He’d park his car by the back door. The trunk was full of his weapons. All he needed to do was pop the trunk, open the door to the backstage area and go to fucking town.

  But first to get the keys. He’d say he left something in the auditorium yesterday when he was snooping around and was too embarrassed to go back in by the main door. He’d say it was a pot pipe. His manager would appreciate it. Dude was always stoned. The first day Sebastian had worked there, the dickhead manager had asked him to get high and flashed his medical marijuana card from another state. Sebastian had panicked but then quickly came up with an excuse, saying he’d just smoked a joint on his way into work and was already stoned out of his mind.

  How ridiculous that so many rich people trusted these loser valets with their $100,000 cars unaware that they were all baked out of their gourds.

  He was counting the days until he could tell his loser manager to fuck off.

  It had to go off without a hitch.

  For a second, a flicker of doubt ran through him.

  The One-Eyed Jack was acting really strange. If he didn’t prove his loyalty, something would have to be done. Sebastian would have to trick him into meeting in person and maybe do something about him that way. The One-Eyed Jack was the only person who knew Sebastian by his real name. Even if the Jack didn’t know it.

  He’d posted once or twice on the Dr. Frank fan site under his real name. If the One-Eyed Jack was inclined to, he could dig around and figure it out. Because of this small detail, it was too dangerous for Sebastian to let the Jack live if he wasn’t completely on board. He’d privately reached out to his cop buddies on the Incel Nation, telling them he was suspicious that the One-Eyed Jack wanted to thwart his plans. They both said they’d asked around and nobody had received any warnings about a mass shooting.

  But still, Sebastian was worried. He couldn’t be too careful.

  If the One-Eyed Jack didn’t prove his loyalty, Sebastian would have to make the man his first kill.

  7

  The hotel lobby was full of gorgeous young women with sleek, tanned bodies, glossy hair, and perfect manicures and pedicures. Those poured into curve-hugging dresses teetered toward a line of black livery cars in the circle drive, while those in bikinis and sunglasses strutted toward the other door leading to the pool facing the ocean.

  Francesca had thought of everything. She’d booked Eva at the hotel where the Miss America pageant contestants were staying. The cosmetics conference women were at a hotel not far away, and the Women’s March registrants were apparently spread out at different locations, some driving in the day of the march.

  When Eva had first pulled up to the hotel, she’d slipped the valet a one-hundred-dollar bill and asked him to keep the Mercedes rental nearby. He gave her an odd smile. There was something strange about his eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was the unreal blue color or the feeling that he was stoned. He made her suspicious. She wondered if he was going to pocket her money and take her car for a joyride. Francesca had arranged for her to drive something fucking obnoxious—a sleek, convertible Mercedes. Her reasoning had been that Eva would actually blend in better with that car than a sedan where she was going.

  The other cars parked in the hotel’s circle drive made her own rental look like a heap. There was a Lamborghini, a Ferrari, Bugatti, BMW i8, and a Honda NSX. Eva liked fast cars. She looked at the Honda longingly. She’d once rented one and tested its performance on the German autobahn.

  In her suite—one of only three on the twelfth floor and just one floor below the penthouse, Eva secured her weapons in the room’s safe and changed into a black one-piece swimsuit. Over it, she wore a semi-sheer, ankle-length cover up, huge dark sunglasses, and three-inch espadrille sandals. She grabbed her iPhone and
a bright orange and turquoise striped Turkish towel that Francesca had packed and headed for the pool.

  Eva walked through the pool area and out the small gate that led to the beach. She wasn’t likely to find the type of girl she was looking for among the pageant contestants. Plus, every second of their time was probably accounted for as they prepared for the show.

  Eva kicked off her wedge sandals as soon as her feet hit the sand, scooped them up in one hand, and made her way down the beach toward a roped off area with lounge chairs facing the waves. There she handed over $20 and took up residence on a reclined lounger, stripping off her cover up and spreading oil on her already bronze limbs.

  Although she gave off an aura of nonchalance, her eyes were taking in those around her. She’d purposefully chosen a seat next to a group of young women who looked like they’d never stopped partying the night before.

  Several empty glasses with limp limes at the bottom were on the tables near them along with overflowing ashtrays. And as soon as the waiter appeared, they all ordered more rounds. Eva took them in, one by one. But she knew her best bet at deciding on a target would come through eavesdropping.

  “Have you heard from your agent, Molly?” One of the women had asked.

  “No. Prick told me the job fell through, so I guess I can stay another few days.”

  “I thought you ran out of money?” a brunette said.

  Molly—a thin woman with lank, sun-streaked hair and huge white sunglasses shook her head. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “I don’t know why you don’t just take Stanley up on his offer. He’s not that old,” the brunette said.

  Another blonde chirped up. “He’d take good care of you.”

  The brunette held her arm out straight in front of her and admired her hand. It sparkled with jeweled rings. “Jeffrey makes sure that I have everything I want. It’s a small price to pay. It’s over in like ten minutes anyway when they’re that old.”

  “Gross,” the freckled blonde said.

  The brunette stood up and put her hands on her hips. “What? You’re too fucking good for that? You think that’s how I dreamed it would be, either? You take what you can fucking get. You’re not too good to be someone’s kept woman. You’re lucky anyone even wants you at all; you’re such a bitch.”

  “Fuck you, Natalie,” the one named Molly said and leaned over to light a cigarette.

  The brunette stood there opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water.

  “I should’ve never said anything to Jeffrey. You rejecting Stanley just makes me look bad.”

  The dirty blonde softened at her friend’s words. “Listen. I am not judging you. Really. I just don’t think that’s the right thing for me. I never asked for your help.”

  Her words were firm but kind.

  “Well, you’re going to get evicted out of your place, and yet you’re too good to fuck some old guy for his money? You’re not very smart. You’re not a survivor like me.”

  The blonde nodded. “You’re right. I’m not like you.”

  She stood and stretched languidly and then walked down to the beach and straight into the waves until they were up to her thighs. She stood there, gazing at the horizon and smoking.

  Meanwhile, the two young women back at the beach sniped about their friend.

  “It’s not like she hasn’t fucked anything that moves. Where does she get off all of a sudden having these high and mighty standards,” one of them said.

  “She’s gotten really weird since her mom got arrested that one time.”

  “Whatever. That woman never gave her the time of day anyway.”

  “Sssshh. Here she comes.”

  Molly smiled as she walked up.

  “Listen, guys. I know you are just looking out for me. I get it. Thanks. I just have to figure this out on my own.”

  She sprawled in her lounge chair just as the drinks came. Molly grabbed hers and lit another cigarette. When the other two women tried to get her to go down to the water where some young men were playing volleyball, she waved them off.

  As if sensing Eva’s stare, she turned and looked. Eva smiled and stood.

  “Do you mind if I borrow one?” Eva said, gesturing toward the cigarette pack on the table. “I haven’t smoked in years, but hey, I’m on vacation.”

  It was true. Except the vacation part.

  The girl shrugged her bony shoulders and handed Eva the pack and a pink plastic lighter.

  Eva perched on the vacant lounge chair next to the woman and lit the cigarette.

  As she exhaled, she leaned back, closing her eyes.

  “Ah, yes, now I remember why I quit.”

  The girl was quiet for a few seconds and then took the bait.

  “Yeah?”

  “I love it so much. I figured anything I loved that much had to be bad for me.”

  “That’s an odd philosophy.”

  Eva nodded in agreement.

  “Are you local?” Eva asked.

  “Sort of,” Molly said. “We live just a half hour north of here. We do this girls’ weekend every year for fun.”

  The waiter came by again with the check. Eva reached for it.

  “I’m treating you and your friends. To thank you for this,” she gestured with her cigarette. “And for the company. I don’t know a soul in Florida.”

  Eva purposefully took a $100 dollar bill out of her phone case and told the waiter she didn’t need change.

  After the waiter left, Eva said. “I hope this doesn’t seem strange, but you look familiar. Are you a model?”

  “Not really. I’m an actress,” Molly said.

  Eva exhaled. “I thought so. Have I seen you in an ad or something?

  The woman squirmed as if she were uncomfortable. “No. I’m just getting started.”

  “I actually need an actress about your age. It’s probably way beneath your talent, but it does pay cash. Quite a bit. To be perfectly honest, the role is very, very disturbing, but it’s for a good cause. It pays about $1,000 an hour and will probably take two hours at the most. Any chance you’re interested?”

  Molly had been listening intently, chewing her lower lip the entire time.

  “You said it’s a disturbing role. What does that mean?”

  “It’s perfectly awful.” Eva ashed her cigarette and lowered her sunglasses to meet the young woman’s eyes.

  “What?”

  “Of course, it’s acting, so you don’t actually have to do anything unsavory. Just pretend that something awful is happening to you.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I’m sorry,” Eva stood. “It really seems bizarre now that I hear myself telling a stranger. My apologies.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Molly said.

  Eva turned.

  “It’s a grand an hour cash?”

  Eva nodded. “Let me buy you lunch, and I’ll tell you all about it. Before we leave though, I have to warn you, the story I’m about to tell you is really fucked up. But you have to trust me that as soon as the video serves its purpose, I will make sure it is destroyed. The only reason I’m doing this is because I believe doing so will save lives. I’ll explain the whole thing.”

  An hour later, after Eva and Molly had shared a platter of paella, they had a deal.

  “You can see why I had to trust you before I could share the details?” Eva said when they stood.

  The girl’s freckled nose scrunched up. “But how do you know you can trust me? We’ve only known each other a little more than an hour?”

  Eva smiled. “I know.”

  The girl nodded, accepting that as fact.

  Eva handed the young woman a hundred dollars. “Here’s a down payment. I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning.”

  Molly nodded, but Eva sensed something in her face.

  ‘You sure you’re okay with this? If not, tell me now so I can find someone else. You can keep the hundred bucks for your time.”

 
“No, I’m good. I just can’t stop thinking about that group of guys you told me about—the incels.”

  “I know,” Eva said. “It was surprising to me as well.”

  “Not just that,” Molly said. “It’s just… I don’t know… it’s just so fucking sad that so many guys could hate themselves that way.”

  Eva studied the young woman’s face and knew her gut instincts had been right—beneath the tough exterior, Molly was a softie and definitely someone she could trust with this assignment. “It is fucking sad. But you know what’s equally as sad? That so many women also hate themselves.”

  “Agreed.”

  Eva watched from the sidewalk until the young woman disappeared inside her hotel lobby.

  She would be perfect.

  Eva walked down the sidewalk to her own hotel. Out front, she looked for the same valet, but couldn’t find him. Another valet with a tidy man bun was working the valet podium.

  But she did see her car parked in the circle drive, so the other guy had at least kept his word.

  In her room, Eva decided to lay down for a quick nap. She woke in the dark and, startled, sat up and reached for her phone. Immediately, she realized she’d lost precious time. She’d slept through the afternoon and part of the night. She sat up and dialed Jonathan’s number.

  “Hey, baby. I need you to message our guy.”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  She shot a glance at the clock on the hotel nightstand again. “I know. I’m sorry. I fell asleep. I’m still on Italian time.”

  “Honey, your entire life is Italian time.”

  “That is so true,” Eva said. “Listen. I need the guy available tomorrow morning. I’ve got a girl. Did he say where in Florida he lived?”

  “About thirty miles from Miami.”

  “Okay, we can be at his place by nine. Just get the details, and text me his address. I’ll handle everything else.”

  Jonathan made a grunting sound. “Getting up right now to message him. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “What’s the word from the police and FBI?”

  “Eva, I know you want them to swoop in and arrest this guy, but I think you’re going to have to stop him on your own. That’s why this One-Eyed Jack turned to you. You’ve established a reputation as the one people turn to when nobody else can help.”