Dearius Collins v. Vincent Infuso

Let’s be real: how many people actually try to run away on foot after they’ve just rear-ended someone in a car crash? Not just shuffle off to the side like, “Uh, I need a minute,” no—this guy fled. By car, then on foot, until a police captain literally chased him down like it was a scene from a bad cop show. And oh, by the way? He was drunk. Or distracted. Or both. Who knows! But one thing we do know: Vincent Infuso didn’t just cause a fender bender—he allegedly turned a routine stop in Tulsa traffic into a full-blown slapstick tragedy, and now three people (including a child) are suing him for $150,000. Buckle up. This one’s got everything: phones, fleeing, medical centers, and a dad who apparently thought sprinting through the streets of Tulsa was a solid post-accident move.

So who are these folks? On one side, we’ve got Dearius Collins and Emiah Ivory Tennyson-Collins—a couple, parents, and, as the filing helpfully clarifies, “next of kin” to their minor child, E.C. They live in Tulsa County, Oklahoma, which means they probably know the drill: Lewis Avenue traffic, 71st Street gridlock, the usual symphony of honking and brake lights. Nothing unusual there. But on the other side of this legal showdown? Vincent Infuso. Also a Tulsa County resident. Also, apparently, a man who, on March 1, 2024, decided to operate a motor vehicle while either impaired, distracted, or just spectacularly bad at life. The filing doesn’t say he was drunk outright—though let’s be honest, when someone flees a crash scene and ends up in jail, the odds are not in their favor—but what it does say is that he admitted to a police captain that he was “distracted by his phone” at the time of impact. Which, sure, maybe he was texting his mom. Or doomscrolling. Or trying to order tacos. But whatever he was doing, it wasn’t driving.

Here’s how it went down: Emiah was driving south on S Lewis Ave, minding her own business, stopped in traffic near E 71st Street—classic Tulsa rush hour vibes. Then, out of nowhere, BAM. Vincent Infuso plows into the back of her car. Not a gentle tap. Not “oops, didn’t see the light change.” This was hard enough to cause injuries, damage, and, apparently, a full-on flight response in the defendant. Because instead of pulling over, turning on his hazard lights, and saying the universally accepted phrase “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”—Infuso did the opposite. He tried to drive away. When that didn’t work—probably because, you know, police were already showing up—he bailed on the car and started running. On foot. Like he was in a prison break, not a car crash. Enter Captain Hart of the Tulsa Police Department, who, bless his badge, intercepted Infuso mid-sprint and brought him in. The guy wasn’t just fleeing the scene—he was fleeing it on foot, like he thought he could outrun liability. Spoiler: you can’t.

Infuso got taken to Hillcrest Medical Center for “medical clearance,” which is court-speak for “they wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurt enough to die in jail,” and then—ta-da!—booked. Because nothing says “responsible citizen” like getting arrested after rear-ending a family and trying to flee like a cartoon villain. The plaintiffs claim that Infuso’s actions weren’t just careless—they were the actual and proximate cause of their injuries. That’s legalese for “this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been texting and driving like a maniac.” And yes, the injuries include both physical and mental harm, emotional distress, and property damage. Oh, and let’s not forget: there’s a child involved. Minor E.C. may not have been driving, but they were in the car. And while the petition doesn’t spell out the kid’s injuries, the mere fact that the parents are suing on behalf of the minor suggests it wasn’t exactly a “we laughed it off and got ice cream” kind of day.

So why are they in court? Two main reasons, laid out in the filing like a legal two-course meal. First: negligence. That’s the bread and butter of car accident lawsuits. Basically, everyone has a duty to drive safely. You’re supposed to pay attention, not plow into stopped cars, and definitely not flee the scene like you’re in a heist movie. Infuso allegedly failed on all counts. He breached his duty of care, caused harm, and now the Collins-Tennyson crew want to be compensated for it. The filing says their actual damages—medical bills, car repairs, therapy, missed work, emotional trauma—exceed $75,000. That’s not chump change, but for a case involving injuries, a damaged vehicle, and psychological distress (especially for a child), it’s not outrageous either. Car repairs alone can hit $10K these days. Therapy? Easily tens of thousands over time. So $75K in actual damages? Plausible.

But then comes the spicy part: punitive damages. Another $75,000—on top of the rest—because, the plaintiffs argue, Infuso didn’t just mess up. He acted with reckless disregard. He knew—or should’ve known—what could happen when you’re distracted behind the wheel, and he did it anyway. Then he made it worse by running away. That’s not negligence. That’s practically a highlight reel of bad decisions. Punitive damages aren’t about covering costs—they’re about punishment. They’re the legal system’s way of saying, “Hey, we don’t just want you to pay for the harm you caused. We want you to feel it.” And honestly? If the facts are true, Infuso earned every penny of that demand.

Now, is $150,000 a lot? Depends on who you ask. For the average Oklahoman, that’s a down payment on a house, or a solid retirement nest egg. But in the world of personal injury claims? It’s not even the top shelf. Major injury cases can reach millions. But here’s the thing: this isn’t just about money. It’s about accountability. The Collins-Tennyson family isn’t just asking to be made whole—they’re asking the court to say, loud and clear, that you don’t get to crash into a family, traumatize a child, and then sprint away like it’s a game of tag. There should be consequences. And punitive damages? That’s the legal system’s version of a timeout with extra shame.

Our take? Look, car accidents happen. We’ve all seen the “I’m so sorry, my bad” wave after a minor bump. But this? This is next-level. The most absurd part isn’t even the crash—it’s the escape attempt. Who looks at a fender bender and thinks, “You know what this needs? A foot chase.” Did Infuso think he was Jason Bourne? Did he believe no one would notice a grown man sprinting through midday Tulsa traffic? And let’s not gloss over the fact that he admitted to being on his phone. In 2024. After decades of “don’t text and drive” campaigns. After countless preventable deaths. And still—still—people do it. Then they panic. Then they run. It’s like a public service announcement written by a sitcom writer.

We’re rooting for the family, obviously. Not because we love lawsuits (though we do love a good courtroom drama), but because someone has to stand up and say, “This isn’t okay.” Especially when a child is involved. And if Vincent Infuso is found liable? Good. Pay up. Write the check. And maybe—just maybe—put the phone down next time. Or at the very least, stay at the scene. Because fleeing on foot? That’s not just illegal. It’s embarrassing.