Mom wept openly at the sight of her, stroking her hair and trying to get her to talk. Tracy opened her eyes a few times to Mom and Dad's voices but seemed to have no awareness of what was going on around her. When she tried to speak it was only in nonsensical grunts. We stayed for nearly an hour before a nurse finally suggested we leave for a little bit. She would probably be like this for the next twenty-four hours we were told.
We found a hotel room in one of the downtown casinos and fell into immediate sleep within minutes. It had been a long night.
The next day Tracy, though in pain, was awake and alert enough to talk. She told the story of what had happened to her both to Mom and Dad and I and to the investigator from the South Lake Tahoe Police department.
Her and one of her girlfriends from college had ridden a Greyhound bus up to the casino area to do a little weekend gambling and drinking. Tracy, I knew, did not like to ride in a car with anyone but she had no problem with airplanes or buses, figuring that fate would not wipe out an entire vehicle full of people just to get to her. Since you had to be twenty-one to gamble or drink in Nevada, Tracy and her friend had secured fake ID's from a reputable dealer at the college. She declined to name just who this person was to the cop, although he did ask. The Greyhound had dropped the two girls off at one of the casinos on Friday night. They'd spent a few hours gambling and drinking and then, finding the room rates at the casino a little more than they could afford, rode a shuttle bus to one of the motels on the California side of the town and got a room there. Early the next morning they rode another shuttle bus back to the casinos.
The two friends spent all day on the strip and Tracy managed to get ahead more than a hundred bucks. Her friend was down about the same amount. Feeling fatigued, Tracy elected to head back to the motel to take a nap for awhile. She tried to find a shuttle bus heading in her direction but discovered that none were scheduled for more than an hour. Wanting badly to sleep, she'd gone out to the taxi stand and hopped in a cab. After all, she was ahead of the game and she could afford it.
The last thing she remembered was driving down the boulevard of South Lake Tahoe in the back of the cab. The next thing she knew, she was in horrible pain in a helicopter, looking up at a trauma nurse in a blue jumpsuit. Things were very spotty from there.
She was questioned several times about the accident itself but she said she could not remember anything. Nobody disputed her on this point. Amnesia is common among accident victims.
The cop filled us in on a few details that had been uncovered.
"According to the witnesses," he explained, "the cab made a left turn against across traffic and was struck by the shuttle van, which was moving about thirty miles an hour. The van driver was slightly injured, as were six of the passengers, although that's probably just what we call Jacoby and Myers pain around these parts. Anyway, your daughter and the cab driver were the only one's with any significant injury. The fault for the accident lies directly on the cab driver. No question about it."
"The driver of the cab was drunk," he said. "From what we've learned he's a hopeless alcoholic. We found an empty pint of vodka under the seat in the cab. Vodka and gin are the favored beverages of those alcoholics that are trying to function on the job. It doesn't leave much of an odor on the breath although it does leave a little. Our officers smelled it right away when they questioned him. They took a blood sample from him at the hospital. He registered point two-one percent. That's more than twice the legal limit. He has two previous convictions for driving under the influence. One in Nevada, one in California. He'll be charged with felony driving under the influence this time."
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.