Tracy, who had remained very composed through all of this, listening respectfully, suddenly turned angry. "Why," she asked the cop, "was this man still driving a cab if he had two DUI convictions?"
The cop gave a cynical look. "Don't ask me," he replied. "If it'd been up to me the asshole – excuse my language – would have had his license yanked forever the first time he got convicted. Unfortunately, it's not up to me. You don't get much around here for DUI. A little fine, a little lecture from the judge not to do it again. Sometimes I think those Iranians have the right idea about that problem. They give 'em the death penalty. A little harsh maybe, but they don't have pretty young girls ending up in hospital beds because of drunk cab drivers."
Though my parents were screaming liberals and routinely canonized the efforts of groups such as the ACLU, they didn't dispute the cop's argument. Nor did I.
"Anyway," he went on, "I think this time he'll at least do a little time in county. He'll also have his hack license taken away. I wish I could promise you that he'll never do it again but you know alcoholism is a "disease" and it's not really his fault. That's what they tell us anyway." He looked at Tracy meaningfully. "Are you SURE you don't remember anything?"
She shook her head, the effort obviously painful. "Not a thing," she said quietly, her eye, the one that was open, flitting away from the cop's face.
He nodded thoughtfully. "Doesn't matter," he finally said. "I'm glad you're gonna make it all right. You probably won't even have to testify. I'm sure a plea bargain will be worked out." He said the words "plea bargain" the way other people say "venereal disease".
We stayed at the hospital for a good portion of the day. Mom brought Tracy some flowers and Dad brought her a large stuffed bear with it's leg in a cast. Her friend Linda, who had accompanied her to Lake Tahoe, stopped by also and we all got to meet her. Linda was a cute blonde, very nice, though a little on the shy side. She was a business major and a member of the young republican's club. She'd apparently gone through quite a bit of turmoil of her own during Tracy's accident. She'd returned to their room expecting to find Tracy there and didn't. She was only slightly worried at that point, figuring her friend had slept and then gone back to the casinos.
But when she still hadn't returned the next morning she became seriously worried. She began calling the cops and the local hospital. The local hospital of course hadn't heard of her since she'd been taken to Reno and whomever she'd talked to at the police department didn't recognize Tracy's name in relationship to the accident. She became frantic when the time for their return came and went and Tracy still hadn't shown up at the room. Another call to the cops was made and someone finally was able to make the connection and let Linda know where Tracy was and that she was alive.
Linda didn't stay long, just long enough to assure herself that Tracy was fine, exchange a hug or two, and let my sister know that she'd retrieved all of her belongings from the motel and would keep them for her. She told us all that she was pleased to meet us and then disappeared.
When Tracy received her latest pain shot and drifted off to sleep we decided to disappear also. We piled into the rented Toyota once more and headed back to our hotel room.
Mom laid down herself and fell quickly to sleep. Dad, claiming he was too wired to sleep, decided that he would go downstairs for just a little bit and maybe have a beer. I gave him a knowing look as he went.
I tried to lay down myself but found sleep impossible. There were many unanswered questions going through my mind. Finally I got up and crept out of the room, catching the elevator to the lobby. Dad was not in the bar but this did not surprise me. I began wandering through the casino, dodging the occasional security guard to keep from being ejected. I walked past jingling slot machines, beeping poker machines, and hundreds of people, finally finding Dad sitting at a two-dollar blackjack table. He had a beer and a stack of five-dollar chips before him and was hitting on a fourteen when I put my hand on his shoulder.
He looked up and gave me a guilty smile. The dealer, oblivious to my presence, slapped down a five on top of his fourteen. He took a quick look and then tucked his cards under his bet.
"Doing a little gambling?" I asked him with mock sternness.
He shrugged. "As long as we're here," he said, "I thought I'd try my luck a little. It's funny. Your mother looks at this whole thing as a tragedy and of course it is, but I know the real tragedy that was supposed to happen. It was supposed to happen on her graduation night and it was supposed to happen the other day, wasn't it?"
"It certainly seems a little more than a coincidence," I told him, keeping my voice low to avoid having the other players gleam what we were talking about. I didn't really have to worry. They were all watching the dealer who was admonishing an ancient man at third base for touching his bet after the cards were in play. "All of the elements were there. Drunk driver, car, water. Somehow Tracy dragged herself out of there though. She didn't drown. That goes against everything I thought I understood about this whole thing."
"Yeah," Dad nodded. "And it makes me feel guilty to feel good about the fact that my daughter was merely injured. We got lucky Bill. Somehow we did. So I figured I'd come down here and see if maybe some of that luck is still floating around."
"And is it?" I asked him.
Before he could answer me the dealer, finished with her gentle reaming of the third baseman, resumed play. With a ten showing she flipped up her down card. It was a five. She gave herself another card, a six, and the table groaned. With a sorrowful look she collected all the bets.
"As you can see," Dad told me, "the theory's flawed. I'm losing my ass." He put another five-dollar chip on the table. "What brings you down here?" He gave me an evil smile. "Pity you're in Reno and too young to gamble, eh?"
I laughed lightly. "You gotta take the bad with the good. But anyway, I wanted to borrow the car," I told him, "I need to talk to Tracy."
He turned serious. "You don't think she's telling everything she knows, do you?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "I don't think she's lying about anything but I just wanted to be able to talk to her alone, to see if she tells me anything else if you and Mom aren't there. She doesn't know that you know after all."
The dealer gave him two aces. She herself had a four showing. Dad smiled and picked up another five-dollar chip, splitting his bet. "That's a good idea," he told me, watching as he was given an eight and a nine to go with each of his aces. He looked at this in satisfaction for a moment and then reached in his pocket and withdrew the car key while the dealer attended to the other players.
"Thanks," I said, taking it from him and pocketing it. "I won't be too long."
"Who knows?" Dad said. "Maybe I'll win so much while you're gone I won't have to worry about things like stocks and investments."
At the table the dealer flipped up a ten to go with her four. She dealt herself a two and then a five. Another apologetic smile to the groaning crowd and she began to collect the money. Dad looked at this in disbelief. Two of the other players got up and left.
"I wouldn't go cashing in any stocks just yet," I told him, chuckling to myself as I headed for the door.
Tracy was awake when I entered her room. She almost looked as if she was expecting me. I took a moment to marvel at the condition of her face. Two and a half days after the accident now it was very swollen and a spectacular array of colors had erupted upon it. Hues of purple, black, blue and yellow competed for billing, centering around her right eye, which was still swollen tightly shut. Though I'd spent eight years looking at people that had been battered with everything from baseball bats, to steering wheels of cars, to crowbars I had never had much opportunity to observe these injuries after they'd had time to swell and discolor. I now knew why police photographers liked to wait twenty-four hours before they snapped shots of assault victims. It was hard to believe that in a week or so her face would be back to it's normal, pretty self as Dr. Kwack had assured her.