All language subtitles for el.chicano.2018.1080p.bluray.x264-drones

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Run, cabrón,
some shit's gone down, eh.

I know,
are they chasing us?

You don't wanna
scam the Cortezes.

- Fucker...
- Watch out, watch out.

Watch out.

Three amigos, huh?

What are you chavalos
doing out so late?

In the barrio, bad things happen
when the sky turns black.

Hey!

Let's go steal some bironga
off your old man and get fucked up?

- Let's go hang with them vatos!
- No, I gotta go.

My mom's gonna whup my ass.
Talk to you later, aye.

Jose! Where you been?
Where you been?

Get the fuck inside.

Take it
to the back, homie.

Fuck. Somebody just
got shot up, eh?

Jose, how many fucking times
have I told you to respect me?

I've told you to stop
fucking with me...

Shit always rolls
down the hill, homie.

Even in the hood.

La jura.

I got my own
spotlight tonight, huh?

How does it feel to be
the star of the show, Emilio?

Only my abuela
calls me Emilio...

To you, it's Shadow.

You come back
to break my other leg?

Two police officers were ambushed
and shot tonight.

Both are in the ICU.
You know anything about that?

I'm just a peace-loving
law-abiding citizen, ese.

You get into my shit,
ese, is that it?

- Fucking placas.
- Tsk. Shut up.

Notice that both stop signs
on the end of the block

have been sawed down.

You know
how that happened?

El Chicano,
the ghetto grim reaper,

leaves a mark as a warning
to the evil that lives on that block.

Do you know any evil
that lives here, Emilio?

Well, you guys have
a good rest of the evening.

No drinking
and driving, okay?

Enjoy the rest
of your night.

Lock those wheels.
It's downhill, bro.

Fuck that.

Fuck the jura.

- Fuck you!
- Get the fuck out of here.

Fuck you.

Settle down.

And you, motherfucker.

Walk hard in my barrio?

I'll steal your
motherfucking soul, punk!

He cuts their hearts
like the Aztecs

and chops up criminals
for blood sacrifice.

He can't be killed.

He's the boogie man.

He's a cucuy.

Where you at, Chicano?

Let me see your face,
motherfucker.

You fucked with
the wrong vato, ese!

You're gonna die for this.

Pedro!

Pedro!

Pedro, wait!

Diego, stop.

Diego, stop, man. Stop!

Hey!

Stop chasing
that asshole. Hey!

Yo, that's just some crackhead,
took off in the scrum.

- You with me?
- Yeah.

Hey, we got Silent.

Come on.

Man, I've seen
a lot of fucked-up shit.

I've never seen
anything like this.

These guys, they hosed down
the friggin' crime scene.

There's no blood.
It's a war zone.

Jesus Christ.
Where's Silent?

We got him
in the back room.

How about the cap?
He on his way?

Yeah, Gomez
is rollin' up now.

Hey, you two,
stay off the radio, okay?

Make sure they don't
talk to Dispatch.

Fucking hot in here.

Good to go.

Look at that.
Look at this motherfucker.

Double tap.

This motherfucker came across
the desk last week, man.

Double tap.
This is a big piece of work.

Whoever did this, you know,
they've done this before.

This is
a professional hit.

Talk to me.

Well, based on the fact
that we got Silent back there

and I know half
these fucking vatos.

These are all
Shotgun's peeps.

Maybe most
of the cliqua.

The upper-tier vatos at least,
all double-tapped,

all less than a quarter of
an inch between the wounds.

- Pros.
- Major.

- Any drugs?
- No, nothing yet.

Okay, here's what we got.

The FBI, they're gonna be
breathing down our backs.

DEA, the ATF...

But I'll be fucked
if I'm gonna let a red ball

like this go federal.
Not in my backyard.

Murder cases this size,
they're career makers, son.

Do you understand that?

How long can you
stall them out?

Twenty-four hours, max.
Then the dam bursts.

Where's Silent?

We're holding him
in the back.

Get up his ass, okay?
Get answers.

Do not let him
utter the word "lawyer."

Yes, sir.

You're my best investigator, Diego.
You clear this case, we're getting snapped

with the mayor
on the steps of city hall.

- Fucking caviar, kid.
- I got it.

Chatting up a storm?

Staying true
to his street name.

- Not a peep. Martinez.
- Morales.

I heard
you're being a Chatty Cathy.

Relax, Silent.

We're not
going anywhere.

You know if I didn't see all
the bullet holes

in your homeboys out there,
I'd swear fucking Freddy Krueger

had a go at you, homes.

Your cliqua got cut up
by some serious cats, Silent.

Some killers.

So far, we haven't turned up
an ounce of powder,

dope, meth, nada.

Thinking I see a meeting?
Maybe a secret one.

What I don't see is Shotgun
lying dead out there.

I'mma show you
somethin'.

Then I want you
to take your ass out there

and go check out
the homeboys,

and then you're gonna
understand.

Understand what?

Hey, man, you good?

Hold up. Stop, stop,
stop, stop, stop.

Don't zip that up,
don't zip that up.

What the fuck?

- What the hell's going on, man?
- The fuck is that, Silent?

Quit fucking
bullshitting me!

Why are you all
inked up like that?

Detective!

Outside.

Boss, Silent has
a tattoo on his forearm.

"Mito 9-9-86."

Those dead vatos have
matching tattoos.

"Mito" means "myth."
What's the date?

My brother's birthday,

which is also my birthday.

"Mito" was
Pedro's nickname.

- Jesus Salas. You know Jesus?
- I know Jesus.

He gave it to him
when he was a kid.

Pedro was into Aztec and Mayan shit.
All the legends.

So Jesus
called him "Myth."

Pedro did
a seven-year bid in Corcoran

for possession
and trafficking.

- I don't need his rap sheet.
- No, no, no.

He was born
with the thug gene.

All that barrio shit,
I wasn't.

I don't like family connections
to major crimes, Diego.

We were barely brothers, boss.
Okay?

I stopped knowing anything
about his life a long time ago.

Well, if they're Shotgun's cliqua, then
what are all those vatos doing inked up

with your brother's nickname
and date of birth, like some cult?

I don't know.

But I have the feeling
it's linked to something bigger.

It has to be.

Diego, if your brother
is really connected to this,

indirectly, peripherally,

Martinez has got to pick up the slack
and take over the case.

No. Come on, Cap!

We're barely two months
into this partnership.

Plus, he's Chi-Town, man.
Midwestern Mexican.

This is East Los.

He doesn't know these streets
or these players like I do.

Let me fucking
figure it out.

Por favor.

All right,
take Silent to Whittier.

Spend a little quality time
with that shithead

before the Feds
storm the castle.

You need an escort?

I don't want
the lights.

I wanna get him
to Whittier on the DL.

Cuidate.

He's all yours.

Buddy, did you call me
a Midwestern Mexican?

You heard that?

What? Illinois
is in the Midwest.

Yeah, you know, it sounded kind of shitty,
like I can't hang or something.

Bro, don't take things
so personally.

Anyway, that was a private conversation
that I don't feel I have to account for.

I just wanna know
where I stand.

You're my partner. Okay?

I have your back,
and I hope you have mine.

That goes without saying.
Of course I got your fucking back.

I'm saying it anyway.

Glad we nipped
that in the bud.

Hey, homie...
Hablame...

What are those tattoos
supposed to tell me?

Your brother.

He knew this was coming, man.
He warned us.

That what was coming?

Revolution.

What the fuck are you talking
about, man?

Come on, man, talk to me.
This is it.

Was the cliqua meeting
in secret?

Was Shotgun there?

Shotgun wasn't there.

So you were
meeting without him.

Shotgun hit his own squad.

Hey.

We were never part of Shotgun's
cliqua, all right, ese?

Silent, someone
went in on you, hard.

Who and why?

I'mma tell you somethin'.

Your brother didn't commit suicide,
he was murdered.

As a matter of fact, he was leading...

Fuck!

Fuck! What the fuck?

Shooter, where's the shooter?
You see the shooter?

You see him?

Get... Get down,
get down, man.

What the fuck is wrong with you?
Diego, get down!

They weren't here for us.

- What?
- They were here for him.

Fuck.

LAPD's finest...

LAPD's best and brightest.

Fucking city cops, the guys
that can't even be entrusted

to transport
the only witness to this crime

to their own goddamn precinct.

You may think this matters,
Captain Gomez.

It doesn't,
it's federal now.

Especially with
a dozen dead bodies.

And the one witness
to this shooting

shot out from under you
while in your custody.

What the fuck?

I'd ask you to trim your tone,
agent.

I don't like anyone yelling at
me in my office that isn't me.

Captain, we know you're
sandbagging us.

Why don't we just
establish that right now?

Jurisdiction isn't just
a five-dollar word, fellas.

It happens to be what I have,
and what I'm exercising

here at the local level.

This is the federal level,
so we are going to interview

all your first responders
and every single cop

that had access
to that crime scene.

Especially the two detectives
who transported the victim.

Get this straight,
gentlemen.

My division, my command,
my call.

Now, if you want to
get a court injunction

to supersede that authority,
have at it.

But the City of Los Angeles
pays my mortgage,

and that's
who I work for.

All right, well, we're not leaving here
until we get an opportunity

to interview those
two fucking idiot detectives

that transported,
what's his name, Silent.

Good, there's
a wooden bench out there

with both your names on it.

So, thank you,
and fuck you.

- Fuck you!
- Nice. Motherfucker.

No, no, no.
It's just a little blood.

You don't have
to come down here.

- Chrissy, don't come down here.
- Did you both get checked out?

- I gotta go.
- We're fine, Captain.

You got fucking blood
all over your clothes.

Now, what the high holy fuck
happened with Silent?

He got sniped,
by one hell of a shooter.

Or just straight mercenaries
based on the precision of that hit.

Boss, Shotgun might have had
his own squad killed.

Wait a minute.
Did Silent confirm this?

He said, and I quote,
"We were never Shotgun's cliqua."

Why don't we issue for Shotgun,
get that fucker in here?

No, that fucking APB
will get picked up by the Feds,

and it will become a fucking track
meet to see who gets to him first.

They don't know about Shotgun,
and we need to keep it that way

until we can lock
him down ourselves.

Hey, do you wanna talk about
what else Silent said

before he was shot?

What the fuck is this, therapy?
What did he say?

Diego, what did he say?

Nothing. Shit talk.

That my brother didn't kill himself,
that he was murdered.

And the only person that would
believe that wholeheartedly

would be my mother.

This investigation is gonna have
every swinging dick

between here and Ventura County
trying to wax

their fucking resume
with my murder scene.

The only leg up
we have left is your brother.

Get into his world, Diego,
and find out who's fucking with ours.

- I miss him every day, mijo.
- Yeah, I know you do, Mom.

Mom, um,

what did you do
with Pedro's belongings,

the stuff he left in his room?

I haven't touched his room
since he passed.

Is there anything
in there?

A box from prison.

Stuff from his cell.
That's basically it.

Mom, I'm working a case
that might be connected

to Pedro's death.

Bunch of guys were gunned down
in a warehouse off Soto Street.

Could these be the same people
that killed your brother?

Maybe.

And can you catch them?

It's a possibility.

Let's go see
what's in there.

Where you from?

I could never bring myself
to go through his things.

Is that bad?

Why would
that be bad, Mom?

I don't know, mijo.

I feel like if I don't feel sad
for your brother

and remind myself of that
sadness, then...

His spirit might
somehow slip away.

Is this it?
All his stuff?

He didn't live here
that long.

And he still had that,

what do they call it,

"cellblock mentality."

You mean,
he hid things.

I mean,
he lived very simply.

How did he
spend his days, Mom?

You know, these are things
that you would know

if you had put
your pride aside

and reconnected
with your brother.

Look, I don't want to reopen
all this right now.

- Pedro and I were very different people.
- You were brothers.

And that should have mattered
to the both of you.

Did he have any mail
coming to the house?

You should have...

You should have looked out
for him, Diego.

You should
have tried harder.

He looked up to you.

Mom, what did
we call him?

"Shortcut."

That's what we called him,

and everyone
thought it was funny

till at some point,
it wasn't funny no more.

Didn't want
to do the work.

That was Pedro.
Did not want to do the work.

Didn't matter what I did,
how I tried to help him out,

hook him up with jobs,
with legit jobs.

He wanted
to sling dope.

You defend
a drug dealer, still.

You dishonor
your brother.

No, you do.

And you dishonor me

and all the hard work that I put in,
to not be dead before my 30th birthday.

Are you really going
to find out who killed my son?

Your son?

Who are you speaking to,
right now?

La jura?

The police?

You've never made me feel bad
about being a cop, Susanna.

Don't start now.

Then don't make me feel bad
about being a mother, Detective.

Pedro's mail is next
to the phone in the kitchen.

- Hey.
- Hey, man.

I think I'm onto
something at Pedro's.

I found a photo
of Shotgun, my brother

and this third cat
whose face is scratched out.

"Know thy enemy"
is written on the back.

If that ain't a world-class fucking clue,
we ain't gonna get one.

Yeah, well, the Feds are good
at reconstructing

these kinds of images overnight,
but we're not.

You know, I got this buddy
back in the Chi,

he works for Homeland.

I tell you what, take a couple of pictures
on your phone, send them through.

- I'll see if he can help us out.
- Cool. Sending now.

So, in 1846, the United States
declared war on Mexico,

then President James Polk

sent Marines to secure
the State of California,

which was still
a Mexican territory.

U.S. Navy Commodore
Robert F. Stockton arrived

on July 14th and declared
California conquered.

But the early Angelenos,
people like you,

and you and me,
did not surrender so easily

and we revolted
against these soldiers

eventually winning
the Siege of Los Angeles.

Firme que no?

Okay, chavalitos.
That's it for today.

Remember, next week
we're gonna be talking about

the playwright Luis Valdez,
the artist...

The journalist Ruben Salazar

and all
my Chicano heroes, huh?

Órale, kids.
You take care, huh?

You must have told me
about the Siege of Los Angeles

at least 100 times, que no.

Some stories never get old, ese.
They keep teaching us.

- So you caught a burner, huh?
- You heard.

Yeah, I mean,
I hear about everything.

So you heard that
every last one of those vatos

was tattooed
with the word "Mito"?

I can't talk to my mom
about Pedro, Jesus.

She's too emotional.

But I know that, uh,
you kept up with him,

and I need to find out
exactly what the fuck

he was up to
these last few years.

I could tell you this,
and this you probably already know,

but your brother
had a pull, Diego.

He drew people in.

He had the makings
of a leader, of a protector.

Come on, Jesus, we both knew
who Pedro was. He banged.

And he got bit by the bullshit
and he went inside.

But that's not the man that
came out of the pinta, homes.

That man was rebuilt.

Reborn.

Sorry.

- Yo, what's up?
- I just found Shotgun.

A robbery homicide.
CI dimed him out.

He's throwing a pachanga
on Cesar Chavez.

Hang tight, I'm on my way.

I gotta roll.
Catch you later?

C u íd a te, homes, huh?

So, how far back
do you and Shotgun go?

Childhood.

We grew up two blocks
from one another.

His father was a baller
back in the day.

This vato loco shot-caller
named Shadow.

Got murdered
when we were kids.

Shotgun's eclipsed
his old man in every way.

I call him
"Malibu's Most Wanted."

He's got a big beach house
out in Zuma and only rolls

through the barrio
when he wants to show out.

There he is.

Look at this
fucking crowd.

What kind of asshole
throws a street party

less than 24 hours after
wiping out his own cliqua?

The kind that doesn't
want to appear guilty.

- Órale!
- Ah! Que paso, vato!

Detective Diego Hernandez,
huh?

La jura just came
to the hood. Huh? Respect.

- I'm here every night, hustler.
- He takes care of us.

Not paddle-boarding
Point Dume, like you.

It's nice, you should try it,
man. I'll show you around.

- Yeah, invite me down.
- Yeah.

But I gotta
ask you the obvious.

How is it you're out here
rolling this hard

when all your homies are lying
dead in the morgue downtown?

Ah, Detective, the LAPD has
robbed you of your heritage.

This is how we
celebrate the dead.

When I die,
I want you and you

and all y'all motherfuckers
to rage.

I'm sure you got nothing
to worry about there.

It'll be a fucking block party when you go down, dawg.

Yeah, well, I mean,
that's gonna be a minute, Detective.

Yeah, I'm sure it is.

You never did get that scar
stitched up, did you?

I'm sure you told your homies here
you caught a shiv at county,

but we both know the truth,
don't we?

Your mom was like Indiana Jones
once she got started

with that belt, homie.
You remember that shit?

Bas, bas, bas.

Damn, man,
she fucked you up.

How many fucking times
have I told you to respect me?

Well, check
this out, officers.

Tomorrow, we got a lowrider
party coming through.

So many bitches,
all right?

I know with your salary,
you probably won't be able

to get a girl,
but I got groupies.

Please tell me this fool Jose
is not for real.

Who the fuck you calling
Jose, cabrón?

Who the fuck is Jose?

You, asshole.

Where'd you
find this coconut?

How about you take off
that badge and that pistola

and we'll handle it out
like real men?

Throw it down for real.

Or we can throw them deuces
in the streets.

High noon, nigga,
call it.

You challenging a cop
to a gunfight?

This ain't your territory,
homeboy.

I see you.
I see my brother, Pedro.

Help me out
with the third fool.

Don't know him.

Well, something tells me,
I find out who this motherfucker is,

then all the pieces
fall into place.

The Feds are going to come
looking for you.

Those murders
got a lot of dicks hard.

They're looking for
someone to fuck.

Have fun.

That's what I thought.

Dress me up.

- What the fuck was that?
- What the fuck...

What do you mean?
What the fuck was that?

He tapped his
goddamn waistband.

He challenged me
to a gunfight, what the...

Bullshit. He went in on you
and you didn't like it.

Fuck your pride
and play it out.

He lets us process him
and perp walk him

and do three hours
of paperwork,

and the moment
his ass hits a chair,

he says one word, "lawyer."

And he'll do it just to fuck
with us and waste our time.

If we don't have him ice-cold
for the crime of murder,

we don't have him at all.

It's my boy.
It's my boy, hold on.

Mikey. Talk to me, dawg.

My motherfucker!
No, no, no.

Send it through now.
We got it.

Saul Campos,
AKA "Jaws."

Rumored to be the illegitimate
son of this asswipe.

Alejandro Truco,
AKA "El Gallo."

The de facto head of the Verdugo Cartel
out of Sinaloa, Mexico.

Jaws was serving a five-year
bid up at Tehachapi,

and he's set to be
released tomorrow.

Paroled out 10 months early
for good behavior.

There's the reason
for Shotgun's party.

It's a welcome home for Jaws.

Why haven't I heard
of this fucking guy?

Unlike most clowns that
claim to be El Gallo's son,

Saul here, he's kept his mouth shut.
He's an anchor baby.

You know, Moms
was some minor felon

that El Gallo banged
on a field trip to LA.

Homegirl,
she hung onto the kid,

moved back to Mexico
a-a-and got paid.

There's rumors that
she's the one really

running the show
in Sinaloa.

Now, El Gallo, he's rare,
in that he's a known nationalist,

big believer
in the notion of Reconquista,

the reclamation
of the former Mexican Empire

before the secession of 1848.

The fuck does that mean?

It means that
he thinks that Cali

along with the entire
southwestern portion of the US

should return
to Mexican rule.

The way that Hitler
wanted Europe back.

I think we have
our bad guys.

Shotgun gave up the cliqua
to the Verdugos.

The Mexicans are expanding up north
and he wants a big seat at the table.

Jaws being released means
they can start making moves.

The cliqua
wasn't feeling this.

They didn't exactly want
to hand over East Los to the cartel.

Especially not to
someone like El Gallo.

Shotgun knew this,
and cleaned house.

And took down
his own cliqua.

How does all that sound
when I say it out loud?

- It sounds about right.
- Okay.

But what does any of this
have to do with your brother?

"Remember always, that all of us,
and you and I especially,

"are descended from immigrants
and revolutionists.

"Franklin Delano Roosevelt."

"A revolution is not
a bed of roses.

"A revolution is a struggle between
the future and the past. Fidel Castro."

Hey.

Give me a kiss.

No, I just woke up,
my breath is funky.

I don't care,
I like funky.

What's wrong?

The case.

My brother.

He had all these books
on revolution.

American, French, Russian.

I don't get it,
my brother wasn't like this.

He wasn't into this shit.

Maybe he was, babe.

I mean, you admit that you stopped
really knowing him.

You haven't seen him
in so long, maybe...

Maybe he changed.
Maybe prison changed him.

He was a thug.

Okay? He was a bad guy
who dealt drugs and shot people.

He was your brother,
Diego.

He was your brother.

And I'm sure there was a time
that you loved him very much.

When you were boys,
when you were little,

when you were chavalitos.

Where you from?

And you know if all of this
is that clear-cut,

and he really
is just a thug,

why is it still
bothering you?

Listen to this.

"We are Mexican-American."

"American" is in all caps.

"No Crip or Blood ever banged
for Nigeria or Ghana,

"or the continent of Africa.
They banged for Compton.

"I bang for mi barrio.
For East Los.

"Por vida, for I am Mexican-American."
Again in all caps.

The dead vatos in that warehouse,
they were inked with the same tattoo.

"Mito," which was Pedro's nickname
and the numbers 9-9-8-6.

- Your birthday.
- And his.

I didn't want you to get
all weird about it.

No, you didn't wanna admit
that this freaked you out.

Pedro is reaching
out to you.

Vanessa, come on,
you sound like Mom.

Okay? Don't get all
voodoo Mexicana bruja on me.

- I don't like that shit.
- Okay.

You don't you think
it's just a little bit unusual

that your biggest case
since becoming a detective

is somehow connected
to your own brother?

I've always believed
in that stuff, man.

Signs, intuitions,
gut feelings,

just things that make the hair
on the back of your neck stand up.

You may not believe
in that energy,

the energy that the dead
carry for the living,

but it's real.

It's real.

Don't stay up
too late, okay?

10 x 30?

What the fuck?

That's 10.

That ain't 30.

What the fuck?

What the hell?

Shit.

What the fuck is this?

Oh, my God.

Diego.

What does this
mean to you?

Come in.

It was like this, a lair almost,
like a ghetto Batcave.

I've never seen
anything like it before.

He had a blacked-out Harley
with riding leathers that were retailored

to slot ballistic plates,
fucking bullet-proofing, Jesus.

I remember where I saw this.

That freak that killed Shadow
when we were kids.

The man on the motorcycle.

Diego, wait!

Who was he?

El Chicano.

Holy shit.
I remember this.

The cucuy.

That's what
he was, Diego.

A ghoul.
A ghost story.

He used to mark
neighborhoods.

If you saw it, it meant somebody
on your block was a target.

Someone
was getting killed.

In the barrio, bad things happen
when the sky turns black.

Who was he?

I've heard stories going back
as far as the '40s.

After the
Zoot Suit Riots.

This misterioso
black-hooded motorcyclist

is spotted moving
through the barrio.

These little
urban legends,

stay alive through the '50s,
and the '60s, the '70s.

Anytime shit got hot
in the hood,

you'd hear those
chopper pipes, homes,

and motherfuckers would put their
pistolas away and call it a day.

The gangsters found God
out of fear of the devil.

I found this in the unit.
There's dozens of them.

Journal entries
talking about revolution.

He considered the cartel
an invading force,

that was coming to reclaim the city,
the barrio.

And they had to be
battled back and beaten

like the original colonists
fought back the fucking British.

Listen to this, man.

"My brother Diego can fight this fight
from the side that is right and good.

"I am neither right nor good.

"I will make up the difference
in blood."

He was amassing
these things, Jesus.

Gathering them up.

The mask, the motorcycle,
the stencil.

I think he wanted
to become this.

And never did.

- Yo.
- Jaws just made parole.

- He's on his way to LA.
- I'm on my way.

Gotta go.

Órale, carnal.

They're holding
this shit down tonight.

Look at Happy Feet over there.
Not a care in the world.

This fucking clown.

I just want to wipe that smug-ass smile
off that motherfucker's face.

Maybe break both his arms
when I slap him in cuffs.

I may have given it
some thought.

Yo, you dig up
anything new on Pedro?

You want to hear something
I never thought I'd hear myself say?

What's that?

I'm no longer 100% certain
my brother killed himself.

Really? Why?

Things he was doing
before he died.

Those vatos,
the tattoos.

They were loyal
to my brother.

Or at least
what they thought he stood for.

You know, did you ever

get a look at your brother's
homicide sheet, morgue book?

His death was
ruled a suicide.

I never even spoke
to the detective in charge.

Oh, yeah.
Here we go.

Looks like a VIP.

Yep.

Is that our guy?

- Hello, Jaws.
- Bingo.

Oh, them motherfuckers
are thick as thieves.

You little bitches.

Let's see if we can
pick this shit up.

Fuck, can you
hear that, man?

Shit, they're speaking Spanish.
You take Jaws, I'll take Shotgun.

Yeah. It's shitty, man.
I can barely hear them.

"You gotta keep shit
on the DL, ese.

Uh...

"Too much heat with the
with the cops and FBI."

"Well, you see the cops are fucked up.
Fuck the cops and the Feds."

"We're gonna war.
All of them, todos."

Something... Fuck, man, I can't hear...

- It's fucking cutting out.
- Cutting-off heads...

- Shit, no, fuck this, man.
- We're missing it. Come on.

All right, turn on the engine.

- Come on.
- All right. Okay, good, good, good.

Yeah. All right,
we're back, we're back.

"Are we going to handle the unit?"
What the fuck is a unit?

"Stay down, low.
Just stay down

"till we line the shit up.
That's the unit."

"Understand.
Where they at now?"

"Split them up.

"Got a few at the chateau.
Uh...

"The others are at the Standard...
And the Sunset Tower."

"That's the strip, yeah.

"Yeah, on the strip.
Cool, cool, cool.

"Cool."

"We'll hit the Marquee
tomorrow night.

"Get the Mexicanos
some pussy."

Fucking music.

"Did you hit the memorial?"
Memorial?

"Yeah, yeah, I did."

"Traitors, traitors.
All of them.

"And we still gave them bitch asses
professional deaths.

"Didn't spare a dime
on that shit.

"Not like their
little leader."

"He's not no Mito
no more."

""Cause you took care
of that shit, dawg."

- "You know I did."
- Fuck.

You get that, motherfucker just
admitted to killing your...

Holy shit!

Fuck!

Diego, I'm hit!

Fuck, we got made,
we got fucking made. Shit!

Oh, fuck, they're coming,
man. Hold on.

- Fuck, you're hit, man. Oh, fuck.
- Fuck your hands, man.

Put it up against the wound!
Put it up against the wound!

- Press it up there. Come on, Dave.
- I'm fucking hit.

- I'm hit. I'm hit, man. Oh, God!
- Dave, come on. Fuck, Dave.

Dave. Dave. Fuck. Fuck.
Stay with me, Dave.

Stay with me, man.
You got this.

Fuck! Come on, Dave!
Stay with me.

We're gonna put
that shit back in.

I swear to God I'm gonna get you
to the fucking hospital.

They're gonna
put it right back in.

Fuck off, motherfuckers!

Fuck! Ah, fuck, Dave.
Come on, man. Fuck! Fuck!

Come on, man, you're LAPD!

There's no one tougher than you.
Come on, motherfucker.

You'll be fine. You got this, Dave! Come on. No, no, no!

Fuck! Fuck! Come on,
motherfucker! No!

Not now, not now,
you fucking bitch. Turn over.

Turn over, you piece
of fucking shit!

Fuck! Come on,
man, come on!

Motherfucker, come on!

Fucking piece of shit!
God damn it.

Come on. Hang on, Dave.
Hang on, Dave.

Fuck! Start,
motherfucker, start!

God damn it!
Fucking turn over.

Turn over, you piece of shit.
Fuck! Start, motherfucker, start!

Start, you little
piece of shit!

Dave!

Dave, Dave...
Come on. Come on, Dave.

Oh, my God.
I got you, I got you.

Come on, Dave. I got you.

It's okay. It's okay.
It's okay.

It's okay. It's okay.
It's okay.

- Get out of my way.
- Hey, what are you doing?

Don't put your hands on me.
Are you out of your mind?

What the fuck...
Are you out of your fucking mind?

You see this,
motherfucker?

- You see this? You see this?
- You're not coming in here!

That means I get
into wherever the fuck I want.

FBI, motherfucker.

- I'll get a subpoena.
- I'll be right here.

Do you know what obstruction
of justice is, Gomez?

- I'll be right here.
- I'm fucking coming back for you.

- Come back, I'll be right here.
- Yeah.

You're not
sitting on this guy!

I knew when you paused outside
to adjust your tie that Dave was dead.

I might have to
suspend you, Diego.

Might not have a choice.

Fucking Feds knocking
on every door in the division.

What about
Martinez's murder?

Shotgun and Jaws, huh?

I can't charge them.

DA will kick it back.

Not enough evidence.

Are you sure you didn't see
one of those fucking assholes

point a smoking pistol at you?

I want to get Vanessa
out of town.

Maybe my mother, too.

Yeah, get them down
to the Den in Oxnard.

The Ventura Sheriff's
keep tabs on them for a while.

Think I wanna put a couple
patrolmen on your door, too.

The accident,
Martinez's stuff,

the camera,
everything burned.

What did you hear?

Shit talk, mostly.
Nothing big.

But they're coming.

The cartel.

The Verdugo...
El Gallo.

He wants to plant a flag in LA
and reset the game,

and it's open season on every one of us
who doesn't wanna see that happen.

You know, Diego, um,
if I was being straight with you,

I have to tell you,
I'm not sure what to do next.

Yeah, okay.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I got it.

Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.
Mom. Mom, stop.

I'm gonna be okay.

Then why are we
going to Oxnard?

Because I wanna make sure
that you're okay. Okay?

Plus, I know how much
you love la jura.

I only have
to love one cop.

There's a pot of
caldo de res in the fridge.

- Got it.
- And a thin, um, tin of carnitas.

Thank you.

Be safe, mijo, eh?

Extra safe.

Hmm?

- Was work upset with you?
- "Was work upset with me?"

That's the question
you're asking me right now?

Yeah, that you have to take time off.
What's wrong with me asking you that?

I think you're burying
the lede, don't you think?

What the hell happened
with Martinez?

We'll take care of that.

"We'll take care of that."

It's just business
as usual, huh?

And what do you want me to do,
break down and start crying?

You still haven't clarified
any of this for me.

- I'm LAPD, baby.
- How long are we gone for?

We don't do
clarity, okay?

Come on.

Was work upset with you?

Actually, I think I'll be
the toast of the break room.

Not too many elementary
school teachers are marked for death.

Don't joke about that.

I have to joke about it

because the reality of it
makes me want to scream.

It's just
a precaution, okay?

We don't know if they were
targeting me, Vaney, okay?

They... They saw a strange car,
two guys sitting inside...

And they just started
randomly shooting?

Yeah.
And just started shooting.

Babe...

That look in your eye.

Yeah. I'm pissed.

That's not
what I see, baby.

What do you see?

Rage.

Diego, felt like
you should have these things.

I think Pedro would have wanted
it that way. Jesus.

PS, look at your brother's
sketch of El Chicano.

On his belt is a tecpatl,
an Aztec war knife.

They believed
that every soul sacrificed

at the edge of this blade
would then inhabit

the knife itself, giving power
to the warrior who wielded it.

He was amassing these things,
Jesus, gathering them up.

The mask, the motorcycle.

I think he wanted
to become this.

And never did.

- Where you from?
- East Los.

- Where you from?
- East Los.

- Where you from?
- I'm from East Los, ese.

Did that motherfucker
just admit to killing your brother?

You're gonna be a good
sicario, homie!

- What?
- Sicario, ese.

El Gallo is all about blood,
carnal.

Mexicano.

Puro.

That's me, homie.

You should be my right hand,
carnalito.

I bring you along, we can ball out
in this fucking bitch,

run these fucking
calles, ese.

You know how
we do this shit.

Órale.

- Always, huh?
- Always, homie.

- Por vida.
- Por vida.

Por Los Ángeles.

Let's get some fucking pussy,
homie.

I'm fucking hit, homie.
Get me to the fucking hospital.

I got you.
I got you.

Go kill that motherfucker.
Get the fuck in there!

I am a good sicario, carnal.

I run
these streets, homes.

Fuck...

- Who's there?
- Open up. It's me.

Shit.

Just a minute, Cap.

Hey, boss.

Saul Campos is dead.

Jaws, whatever the fuck
they called him.

- How?
- Downtown nightclub Marquee.

What happened?

Someone rampaged through
that banda, ripshit riot,

fucked shit up, killed a bunch
of Mexican nationals,

Campos, Jose Galan...

Shotgun.

Fucking asshole.

Apparently, he was there,
but he disappeared.

Who were these
Mexican nationals?

I'd make them the Soto Street
shooters if I could.

Your leg is bleeding.

Huh?

Your leg,
it's bleeding.

Goddamn cuts from the crash
keep opening up.

Mind handing me the rag
from the counter over there, Cap?

Maybe a bottle of water, too?
These fucking pills.

Did you put in the paperwork
for my suspension yet?

Haven't gotten around to it.

What about Martinez's body?

What are we doing with it?

Yeah. Ship him to Chicago.
He's got family there.

I wanna see him
before you do that.

That okay?

So, uh, you have any theories?

About tonight?
Who hit the spot?

I mean, when you said
Jaws was dead, I was like,

"Good. Fuck him."

Based on that, I don't really see
why my opinion matters, boss.

He's responsible for Martinez's death
as far as I'm concerned.

So I'm glad he's gone.

I just wish they'd gotten
Shotgun, too.

So you wish you could've taken
a shot at them?

Bet your ass I do.

Whatever your brother has
that's relative to this case,

I'm gonna need
to take it right now.

- It's just a bunch of prison shit.
- I want it.

It's right over there.

Take care of that leg.

Fuck.

Shit was crazy, man.

Motherfuckers
got popped, man.

Meanwhile, the LAPD

is still looking for this man believed
to be involved in the shooting.

The victims have yet to be identified,

and authorities remain baffled
as to the motives

behind these gruesome murders.

Early indications are,
they are unconfirmed reports

at this time, that the victims
are Mexican nationals.

The club has
a checkered history

in law enforcement circles
with the LAPD telling us...

Sí, señor.

...this area looking
for the suspect.

This wasn't all for nothing, brother.
I promise.

They don't run from this.

And they can't hide.

Sorry, Detective.
We got processing.

Who's this?

Another DB
from the Marquee.

That thing that
went down last night.

What happened?

Well, these guys got done,

and nobody's really talking
about it, which tells me

I really shouldn't be talking
about it, but it was bad.

This guy is supposedly

the son of some
Mexican kingpin drug lord.

You know, we haven't had
this many bodies come through here ever.

Sorry, I'll give
you a minute.

Thanks.

I didn't
kill you, did I?

Somebody choked you out.

Shotgun is gonna be along
to join you real soon, Saul.

Está aquí.

Órale.

I've lived with
that loss my entire life,

as you will live
with this loss

for the rest of yours.

But we can
avenge them both,

as a father

and a son.

El Chicano.

All available LAPD units city-wide,

respond to explosion
at Whittier Station.

Multiple fatalities reported.
Watch commanders en route.

Scene structure is on fire
and unstable.

We got four more coming.
Let's go.

Cap!

Cap, where you at?

Urgent.
Let's get him out of here.

Cap!
The fuck happened?

Fucking blew us up.
They fucking blew us up!

Who? Who?

The cartel.
Fucking Mexicans. Fucking...

- Let's get you outta here.
- No, I can fucking stand up.

I can stand up.

Come on,
come on, come on.

They took our people, Diego.
They took our people.

Can we get
a paramedic over here?

They took my fucking cops.
They took my fucking cops.

Come on, get him to an
ambulance. Come on.

I got you, sir.

Destruction...

It's an ugly thing.

But...

Cops will fall.

Cities will fall.

Verdugo will rise

and shields will fill
the streets.

Perro no mas.

Es el gringo.

Ahhh!

He's running!

I'm a friend.

Shots fired, shots fired!

I have a code three.
Officer down, I repeat, officer down!

Ha!

And here I am.

...on American soil.

What the...

Why don't you
come out, motherfucker?

Chicano!

Show your fucking self, huh!

Hey, won't you come bleed
with me, motherfucker?

Bleed with me!

I've been waiting for you
for 20 fucking years.

Even God wants this fight!

God wants this fight.

Oh, you don't got the hands
to deal with me, motherfucker.

I'm gonna blow that fucking mask
off that face,

stare into the demon's eyes
that killed my father...

Know thy enemy.

Pedro owed you this.

No, no.

Detective Hernandez,
just relax, we're almost at the hospital.

Detective
Diego Hernandez,

working in a dangerous
undercover capacity,

after the murder of his partner
Detective David Martinez,

was investigating key members
of the notorious

Verdugo drug cartel,

in an effort to
expose their plans

to infiltrate and terrorize
Los Angeles.

The cartel,
led by Alejandro Truco,

more infamously known
as "El Gallo,"

launched an unprovoked attack
on our very own

Whittier Police Station
last week,

killing several police officers
and wounding several others.

This represents the first time,
since September 11th of 2001,

that foreign elements
have conducted an assault

against US citizens
on American soil.

Detective Hernandez
displayed bravery, courage

and the mental and intestinal
fortitude of the LAPD's finest,

single-handedly
tracking down the perpetrators

and prevailing in a brutal
gun battle

that claimed the lives of both
Alejandro "El Gallo" Truco

and the man believed to be
his second-in-command in Los Angeles,

Jose "Shotgun" Galan.

Amen.

¡Venganza para la familia!

This is
all-out war now,

but this is a war that we need to fight
from the right side of the law, Diego.

El Gallo? Fuck him.

Those Verdugos
are gonna regroup.

They're gonna fucking
come at us tenfold.

Then we meet them
and we fight.

And we fight,
like this,

not like that.

Hey, boss.

Who was it,
back in the day?

Gonna need
to see some ID.

It's okay.

Missed all the excitement.

Shit's gonna
get deep, eh? Watch out.

I watch for you,
you watch for me, ese.

Yeah, right.

LAPD's pride and joy.

You made it.

Órale...

How you feeling?

Right now?
Like refried shit.

So what are you gonna do?

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

You got the tecpatl?

The what?

The knife.
The Aztec knife.

Oh.

Yeah.

Yeah, I got it.

You know, I think Pedro would have
really wanted you to have it.

Who knows,
might come in handy.

Right.
Around the house.

In the barrio...

Bad things happen
when the sky turns black.

Una, dos, tres.

My brother Diego can fight this fight
from the side that is right and good.

I am neither right, norgood.

I will make up
the difference in blood.

Where you from?

East Los.

I bang for mi barrio,
for East Los...

por vida.

For I am Mexican-American.

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