Programmed for Peril

Spit flew from his mumbling mouth.
    “Awrrrrrooooooowwww!”
     

6
     
    TRISH DIDN’T HAVE A WEIGHT PROBLEM. IT WAS ALL right to go into Estrella and order two ricotta pies to have with her morning coffee. So they were a little heavy. But they were good! Mario was behind the counter, bent and thin, always with a trace of gray stubble on his cheeks. The heat of the place didn’t seem to bother him. She had gathered from their brief conversations that he had not long ago been homeless. He was most grateful to fellow-Italian Dino for hiring him. Dino said he had been in a hurry to open up three months ago. He had hired the codger on impulse. Trish had smiled inwardly. Never let it pass brash Dino’s lips that he had done Mario a favor.
    Mario put the two pies in a small white box and tied them with string. “Next week we’re putting in an air conditioner. So it won’t be so hot in here, you know?” His grin showed—count ’em!—three missing basic teeth. The survivors had the look of fangs.
    She knew Mario slept on a cot back with the mixers and ovens and sometimes helped Dino bake. He played watchman in exchange for a bed. A win-win. Onto her box he stuck something. Oh! A smiley face sticker.
    He winked at her. “Special customer that means.”
    “What’s special about me? I only come in here once in a while-”
    “It ain’t what you buy, Trish. It’s how you look.”
    She could still redden. “Mario!”
    His fangy grin widened, a bizarre sight, really. “You know what they say: The older the stag, the harder the horn!”
    “Stop it! Or I’ll think you’re a lot less a nice old man than an old goat.”
    Mario gave her the box. “You get to a certain age, you don’t have to behave no more. It’s a trade for not being able to... never mind.” He turned toward the kitchen. He shouted in Italian. Then translated: “Trish is here! The computer cutie!”
    Trish said, “Mario, you don’t have to—”
    “So? Big deal!” Dino’s gruff baritone rumbled, muted by plywood and distance.
    Mario chuckled. “He has to be macho. I used to be that way, too, till I got old, poor, and ugly.”
    Dino ambled into view wiping his sweaty hands on a black apron. “What’s up, lady?” he growled.
    “Oh, you know, Dino. Good and bad.” Why was she reddening?
    “How’s your bambina —what’s her name?”
    “Melody’s fine.”
    Several customers came in, occupying Mario’s attention. Dino busied himself with straightening cookies in a display case. He had a solid face and jaw. Good match for the dark eyes and tight curly hair. He was in his mid-forties, she guessed, because he told her he had been in Vietnam. He had worked as a baker in Chicago. When an uncle died and left him some money he decided to return home. An ad announced the sale of a bakery and all its equipment. He bought it all at a good price, then moved it from a poor location across town to this slightly better one. Business so far hadn’t been that great, but he was hopeful he would soon make a go of it. Mario’s willingness to work long hours in the heat for small pay was an important contribution that Dino greatly appreciated.
    She was about to turn and leave when he looked up from a tray of devil’s food cupcakes and said, “So what’s ‘bad’? In your life, I mean. You said it wasn’t all good.”
    She hesitated. She had cultivated habits of discretion. Being close-mouthed meant less chance of revealing close California matters. She recalled she had considered talking to Dino about Rocco. Maybe she should have followed her intuition. “You got a couple hours?” she said.
    “How about fifteen minutes? I was gonna have a smoke out back.”
    It took longer than fifteen minutes for Trish to tell her tale of threats and suspicions and her ambiguity about Rocco being guilty.
    Dino threw away his butt and folded his arms. His glance was frank. “I see maybe you’re not starting at the right end of this. Are you saying you don’t want to sell? Or are you saying he isn’t offering enough?”
    She hadn’t expected that question. The problem about what to do with the business after she married had risen to her consciousness from time to time. She surely wouldn’t need PC-Pros for financial reasons. “I might consider selling after my wedding in the middle of September.”
    Dino grinned. Nature, or more likely a good dentist, had given him white, even teeth. “Who’s the sucker?”
    Trish shook her head in vexation. "Why