All language subtitles for Diarra From Detroit s02e04 Michigan Jones.eng

Police say the three
Coney Island victims

were strangers until
the arrest of Deonte Brooks.

What the fuck?

BAILEY:
When Rory brought you to me,

he said he couldn't
tell if you were

the good guy or the bad guy.

- DIARRA: Danger?
- Hmm?

- Are you dead?
- DANGER: Nah.

Get Deonte out.

Focus.

DIARRA: We told them
we were making a documentary

on the Detroit Flamingos
of Eden's Ethiopia.

"Cinnamon" spelled
the regular way.

Wakey, wakey.
I got you a parting muffin.

- Do you like this guy?
- No, I'm not you.

I think you're trying to figure
out how to unlock that desk.

ROYCE: I'm not bringing
y'all fake-ass niggas in there!

And the Masons do not play, Dee.

DIARRA: Duncan Duckett.

I'll trade Booker his key

for the testimony
that frees Chris.

I'm a private investigator.

It's like a treasure map.

AJA: This is Detroit.

So, what, you think this is just
some kind of practical joke?

Diarra, yes!

Who the hell did you piss off?

DIARRA: Confession.

Crazy as it was, I was ready
to embrace my PI era.

But I was also ready
for my mom era.

I felt like the explosion
broke me into fragments,

split me in two,

both sides of me
in a dangerous competition.

My mind was everywhere
all at once.

[overlapping] The baby blew up?
Hey, I want a baby.

The Coney Killer's
trying to kill you.

Are you a mom or a PI?

Do not leave this room.
This is all my fault.

Stay safe. You have to keep
calm. Treasure? What the fuck?

- Is the map even real?
- DANGER: Stop.

Get Deonte out.

Focus.

One thing.

DIARRA: But how was I supposed
to solve a triple homicide

on the fucking bus?

I needed wheels.

Ugh, this motherfucker.

But wait, was the Coney Killer
trying to kill me?

Do not leave this room.
I'm scared.

Focus. Focus on the clues.

DIARRA: But the only clue I had
was the stuff of urban legend:

a treasure map
hidden in an antique desk.

So I had motive...

but no suspect.

I had no idea
what to do next, when...

- [pounding on door]
- Shit!

Since the explosion,
I'd become a bit paranoid.

RAQUEEBA: It's me,
you crazy bitch. Open up.

DIARRA: Apparently
I'd become cause for concern

- on the family group chat.
- Come in.

Cousin!
Somebody blew up your car.

Your boyfriend locked up.

You need prayer, alcohol,
and fellowship.

DIARRA: Urban legend says
relatives will always pick

the worst possible time
for a visit.

- What is that?
- A suitcase.

Sela's at Camp Personality
for two weeks.

- Okay...
- Trying to turn up!

Get some D. Get some sleep.

But first, I got to
make sure you straight, boo.

So I'ma spend
my little mom-cation with you.

Raqueeba, hell no!

No, no, no,
no, no, no, no, no, no.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Raqueeba,
only time anybody see you

is when Sela at
Camp Personality.

Now you wanna turn up and
fuck everybody else's liver up.

No, thank you.
I love you, but you gots to go.

Mm-mm. I know what you need.

- What?
- You need cousin love.

Come here, baby.
Come here, baby.

- No, stop it!
- Let me hug you, baby.

Oh, my God. That's really good.

RAQUEEBA: Mm-mm. Mmm.

Can you squeeze me just,
like, a little bit tighter?

Like it or not, there was
a particular kind of healing hug

only another Black woman
could give.

[phone ringing]

- Is that me?
- Who is that?

I don't know.
If you would back up!

- Why are you so sensitive?
- Stop it, you crazy!

Girl! Jesus Christ.

I'ma get a couple
margaritas in you.

A little alcohol
always leads to the truth.

Raqueeba, it's unknown.

It's Chris.
Have you talked to him yet?

Sound upbeat. You know
them niggas locked up

be going through shit.
Put on your sexy voice.

Hello there.

BOOKER:
This the lady with the baby?

I heard you can find my key.

- Is this Booker?
- Who the hell is Booker?

Shh! One sec.

He was my witness,

the guy who could free Chris.

That's what I was betting on.

I did better. I got your key
and I opened your little desk.

I need you to tell me
what you saw

the night of the Coney killings.

I'm not talking till you
tell me what you found inside.

[sighs]

- A map.
- A map?

No money, jewels? Nothing?

No. I guess the map leads
to some kind of treasure.

Leads to? Come on, man. Fuck!

Booker, I know that things are
complicated for you right now.

But Chris didn't do this.

And if you saw who did,
then I need your testimony.

I am begging you.

Please.

Hello?

Hello?

Hello?

I know your boyfriend
wasn't there that night.

- [exhales]
- And I know who was.

But I need my inheritance.

Or treasure,
or whatever the fuck.

Find it,

and I'm your star witness.

[line beeping]

What-

And so I filed away everything

I couldn't afford
to think about.

[tense music]

It was a lesson in
compartmentalization, really.

I had just learned
the masonic tenet of focus,

and it was already time
to put it to the test.

One thing.

***

Duncan Duckett,
you cheeky bastard.

[sighs] How do I read your map?

TEA: Okay, Dee,
what's the big announcement?

You can call me
Michigan motherfucking Jones,

'cause we going
treasure hunting, bitches.

- Um, okay.
- DIARRA: Or...

do we like Detroit Jones better?

I won't be using either.

Yeah, I think I'ma stick with...

[theme music]

Treasure hunting
a white pastime. Open up.

DIARRA: I let her stay,
even though I was sure

she was a spy for
the family group chat.

And since I was on
Chris's no-contact list

as a potential witness,

Mac was my spy
at the arraignment.

Shit was brutal. Aunt Vonda
got this expensive-ass lawyer

- trying to push a deal.
- He cannot take a deal.

TEA: I mean, maybe call Swa.

After all he put you through,
he owes you.

MAC: Auntie Vonda don't
even want me talking to you.

I doubt she'd take some
legal advice from your ex.

The only "ex" that
we need to worry about

is the one that marks the spot.

Trust me, we can fix this.

- With a treasure hunt?
- N- Mm-hmm. Yes!

- Mmm. Shit, that's good.
- Mm-hmm. Yeah.

We make Booker happy,
he goes to the cops,

maybe even breaks us off
a little finder's fee.

Look, "To find my fortune
you must get lucky,"

which means...
there's a fortune!

Left by an old Black man.

The fortune could be a corncob
pipe and a dusty top hat.

Or an old-timey puppet
and a slave shackle.

When is the last time you heard
of three people getting killed

over an old-timey puppet
and a slave shackle?

Shit, every day.
Did you watch the news?

In order to understand the map,

we need to understand
the man who made it.

- The dead guy at Tommy's Gun.
- His name was Duncan Duckett.

But who the hell knows about
a man that died 100 years ago?

I know about every damn thing.

And yes, you may film me.

Listen, I have been consulting

with the top experts
on my bus route.

That's why I ain't
never going to jail.

I know their secrets.

See, Detroit was built on
an Indian spirit portal.

Which is why Detroit
ain't no real place.

Yes,
crackheads can travel by portal.

Which is why
they seem so fast-moving.

What?

- What?
- THE PROFESSOR: To resume.

The legend of Duncan Duckett
is truer than true.

Dunc was a gangster, rum runner,

all-around bad motherfucker.

Worked for the Purple Gang.

Robbed those crackers blind.

And that's why we still
call cold, hard cash...

Ducketts.

- Huh?
- Dee, that's your source?

A vagrant with a bow tie
is still a vagrant.

And crackheads move fast
'cause they on crack.

- I confirmed his theory.
- ERMA: That's false.

Records show Duncan Duckett was
an established business owner

in Paradise Valley.

Devoted family man.
Prominent deacon.

And there is no evidence
that any Black man

was working with
the Purple Gang.

Complimentary snow globe.

That's not confirmation.
It's the exact opposite.

Well, Dunc was still killed
in a Purple Gang hideout.

So whether he was
a cold-blooded gangster

or an upstanding citizen,
he had schmoney, okay?

So the treasure's real
either way.

But why would Dunc have
the treasure to begin with?

Jesus Christ!
Who fucking cares? Okay?

If Booker needs it to testify,
then we're gonna find it.

So everybody,
gather the fuck around

and look at the map
either through the eyes

of a cold-blooded gangsta
or a businessman

until we can figure out
how to read it.

I'ma look at it like a gangster.

OTHERS: Businessman.

BAILEY: Oh, shit.

Well, I guess we know
how the cow died.

She ate all this damn hemlock.

Look,
there's bite marks everywhere.

That's a rough way to go.

DANGER: Shit's Darwin, I guess.

I'll run back, grab the Roundup.

You trying to get away from me?

You haven't said two words
since the run the other night.

I'm sorry.

I was in a bind. I figured
you could handle yourself.

It's all good.

I know I owe you.

I wasn't calling in a chip, Om.

Everything I said
about this place is real.

Sustainability. Community.

The spirit guiding us
to a new Earth.

So meth is gonna
help you heal the world?

You believe that story?

The revolution has to be funded.

I know you're not na�ve, Om.

Once Homeland can stand on
her own two feet, she will.

[ominous music]

MAC: Hmm.

Maybe dude's fortune is that
cocktail recipe right there.

Can you read that?
What does it say?

DIARRA: One ounce strong spirit.
One ounce grape juice.

- Turmeric.
- Hmm. You got any turmeric?

Mm-hmm. Pantry.

All right, bet.
This shit better be good, man.

This dead nigga put us
through enough already.

This is typical Dee psychology.

You say "treasure hunt,"
I hear "avoidance."

Should we discuss the fact that
someone's trying to kill you?

Hey. What you doing, Raqueeba?

'Cause if any of this leaks
to the family group chat,

you gon' be spending
mom-cation at the mall.

I am not avoiding my feelings.

I'm compartmentalizing them.

That's very different.

- BOTH: Okay.
- MAC: All right, y'all.

Check these out.

Try these. Bam. A Dunc for you.

- Okay.
- A Dunc for you.

- Hey!
- And you.

I should just Dunc on you.

RAQUEEBA: Well, come on, then.

'Bout time. Whoo!

- To freedom.
- Prohibition.

[all chuckling]

Mm-mm. Mmm!

- Mmm!
- Ugh!

So we're gonna add bartending
to the long list of shit

that you're not allowed to do.

That's your boy Dunc. I'm trying
to help y'all niggas out.

TEA: Okay, listen.
I wanna help Chris.

But this ain't it. Okay?

The map has no street names.

We have no way of knowing what's
the truth and what's fiction.

A little alcohol
always leads to the truth.

Professor said
Dunc was a bootlegger.

Which means he would have
trafficked in secrets.

[intriguing music]

Oh, shit. Wait a minute.

He was using invisible ink.

DIARRA: Booker
and Duncan Duckett

were definitely related.

Oh, shit.

MAC: Oh, my God.
It's all making sense.

DIARRA: And that's how the
street names came into focus.

TEA: Deerlick Lake?

This is very old Detroit.

But the X that marks the spot is
right off Fenkell and Burt Road.

- Good Lord, that's the hood.
- Shit. That's Brightmoor.

They say the stars don't even
come out at night in Brightmoor.

I'm not scared of Brightmoor.

- Shit, I am.
- We are going, Raqueeba.

We just- we just need a plan.

And a decent cocktail.

[rap music]

I don't know why,

but something about
proximity to Dunc

made me think better.

Um, Dee? We got a problem.

X marks the spot at the former
Brightmoor General Store.

That's now
the Vulture Biker Bar.

- It's owned by Cartier Kelly.
- Oh, hell no.

Who the hell is Cartier Kelly?

[rock music]

Cartier Kelly became a legend

the day he walked into
a bar full of Nazis.

***

He wanted the bar for himself.

[shouting]

- And he got it.
- MAN: Get him, boys!

DIARRA: If he had stopped
at killing Nazis,

that would have been one thing.

But he left a trail
of bodies behind

in pursuit of his true passion.

He collected
his gangster memorabilia

by any means necessary.

Hoffa's watch,
Pontiac's hatchet,

and the Vulture Bar itself.

The former general store was

a known Prohibition-era
stash house,

and with every
new artifact he assembled,

tales of his savagery grew.

Head of the Fenkell Mob?
De facto mayor of Brightmoor?

Famed Tubi movie producer?

This nigga's got
a lot of hobbies.

How do y'all even know
all this stuff?

Well, you hear about
everything down at the plant.

Stitch told me
all about this dude.

He's got the largest collection

of gangster memorabilia
in the D.

So this nigga's crazy. Perfect.

You know what else? I like him
for those Coney murders.

- Absolutely.
- Well, clearly.

You know, maybe the Professor
was on to something.

- Nah, he was on to nothing.
- Think about it.

If Dunc was a gangster,
then Cartier would've wanted

his desk for
his little collection.

So he shows up to the Coney
and he wilds out.

Nah. Like you said, nobody
kills three people over a desk.

This was always about the map.

So Cartier kills for a map
that leads back to his own bar?

Maybe his dumb ass don't know
he's sittin' on a goldmine.

***

The next morning, we needed
a little hair of the dog,

and the only place to get it?

- The Vulture Biker Bar.
- No. No. Mm-mm.

I don't like this, Dee.

Queeba, you were never going in.

If you die, the family
group chat will eviscerate me.

Just meme after meme
of Viola Davis picking up

that handbag for the rest
of my life. You stay here.

If you are not out
in ten minutes,

- I'm driving through the wall.
- Okay!

TEA: All right, so what exactly
are we looking for?

- Anything not renovated.
- So treasure might be

in the walls, buried underneath.

- Mm-hmm.
- Oh, forgot to tell you.

One of my guys on the inside
is getting Chris a phone.

Supposed to be
calling you today.

- I'll get my jacket.
- DIARRA: This is all my fault.

Stay safe. It was too much.
Are you a mom or a PI?

- This is all my fault.
- We should try again.

DIARRA: Emotional landmines
were stacking up like Legos.

One thing.

Thank you.
I will be expecting that call.

- Okay.
- [exhales] Okay.

Now let's go get Booker
his treasure.

I'm Chopper.
You Rabbit. You Pablo.

I'm Mexican? Hell yeah.
What kind of bike I got?

What are you, Daniel Day-Lewis?
Who fucking cares?

Act tough. Blend in.

See? It's working.

None of us were prepared for
what waited for us inside.

BIKER: Hold it right there.

Ain't no way you walking
out of here alive.

How was that? Was it believable?

'Cause I could
also do it like this.

[shouting] Ain't no fuckin' way

you walking up out of here
alive, motherfuckers!

Hold up. Wait a minute.

You the dude from
Rumble, Biker Gang, Rumble.

- Ah! Shit!
- DIARRA: Because inside,

we stumbled upon
Daniel Day-Day-Lewis

on the set
of a very ghetto indie movie.

And, action!

DIARRA: Gangs in the D were
big into making indie films.

It was the ultimate flex to
spread their own urban legend

through the magic of cinema.

BIKER: Take one or take two?

Take two. Fuck that. Denzel who?

- BOTH: Take one!
- BIKER: Queen.

Extras holdings over there.

- Thank you.
- You're very welcome.

DIRECTOR: Cut, cut, cut!

How many times I gotta say
the boom is in the shot!

CARTIER: Film School says
keep it grounded.

DIRECTOR: Back to one!

Chimney looks original.

TEA: Fireplace is probably
on the other side.

- Mm-hmm.
- DIRECTOR: Quiet on set!

Excuse me.
Um, one of the extras said

if they don't get a line,
they gon' kill somebody.

Um, red hat.

CARTIER: Film School says
push in on this.

[tense music]

DIARRA: Cartier's office.

The ridiculous amount of Buffs

and the smell of crazy
in the air gave it away.

I was trying to focus,

but new questions tugged at me
like a mad dog on a leash.

Was Cartier collecting trophies
from his Coney victims?

First and last warning, nigga.

One thing.

DIARRA: But I had
to stay on mission.

I was about to unlock
Booker's fortune.

***

X marks the spot.

[sighs]

[click]

***

- Oh.
- [click]

[sighs]

Dunc, what the fuck, bruh?

I hear something jiggling,

so it's gotta be...

- [Diarra screams] Oh-
- [yelps] Shh!

Shh! You shh! You shh!

- Shh! Hey, who are you?
- Who the fuck are you?

But I wasn't prepared
for the last item

Cartier had added
to his collection:

a human being.

I'm sorry, is this
some type of rehearsal, or...

Does this look like
a fucking rehearsal?

Being chained to a fucking
radiator? You seeing this shit?

This is not a fucking rehearsal.
This is real life!

I don't know what the fuck
is going on in here.

Bunch of
Spike Lee-ass gangsters.

I've never seen no shit
like this in my life.

Do me a favor, go to that mantel
and get the key.

- There's a key up there.
- Sir, why are you chained

to the fucking radiator?

I'm a director, and
these niggas are fucking crazy.

- They won't let me leave.
- A director?

- Yes.
- Then how come you're not

out there in a fucking beret
telling people what to do?

Please get the goddamn key
for me. Please!

How do I know
if I can trust you?

You can trust me.
Just get the goddamn key.

- Can do you do that?
- Shit!

- Where is it?
- Right up there.

- Right there.
- Ugh. Here.

- [door thuds]
- [Film School screams]

- We gotta go.
- MAC: Now.

- [gunfire]
- They shooting.

Not without their "director,"
they're not.

- Who the fuck is this nigga?
- TEA: Dee.

They're actually
fucking shooting.

There's some YNs or
film critics that showed up

- and now it's a showdown.
- Oh, shit!

- Okay, let's go.
- FILM SCHOOL: Wait for me!

- [gunfire]
- Wait a minute, damn it!

I'm coming with you!

- [gunfire]
- [overlapping shouting]

[tires screeching]

BIKER: Stop those guys!
They're stealing Film School!

Hey!
They're stealing our director-

- Let's go, let's go, let's go!
- Tea, kick it open!

BIKER: Take our director,

you'll never make it
out of Brightmoor alive!

No, no, no, no, no!
Go your own way!

- You gon' get us killed!
- No way, man. I'm with you!

- No, seriously, man, go!
- [overlapping arguing]

Oh, shit!

Oh! Shit!

MAN: Come on, come on!

[gunfire]

FILM SCHOOL: Maybe they'll stop
if I yell "cut." Cut! Cut!

Queeba! Where are you?

RAQUEEBA: Cousin,
I had to bounce.

I couldn't even
get back over there.

F-Mob closing down the street.

Okay, okay. Okay.
Please don't get shot.

Fuck! We need another ride.

- FILM SCHOOL: Go, go!
- Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!

- [phone ringing]
- Oh, shit.

You really rolling calls
right now?

It could be Chris! [exclaims]

- [brightly] Hello there!
- Dee!

- What?
- CHRIS: Diarra? It's me.

Talking with everybody
but the fucking police!

Now is not a good time.
Please call me back.

CHRIS: Dee. Dee, what is that?

Is that gunshots?
Diarra, where are you?

[all screaming]

- TEA: Oh, shit!
- FILM SCHOOL: They got him!

DIARRA: For the record,
compartmentalization...

very hard.

We gotta get off these streets.

- Now.
- Oh, my fucking God.

I know a safe spot not too far.

[game show playing on TV]

[breathing heavily]

- [bell dinging on TV]
- HOST: Brenda!

[TV audience cheering]

DIARRA: There was only
one safe place to go.

Well,
safe for everyone except Tea.

His ex marked this spot.

His name was Xavier.

What? What?

Look, if you still
butt hurt over some old shit,

- we can just go.
- Hmm.

[distant gunfire]

Punk ass.

- I should've went to work.
- DIARRA: Sir?

Can I just... Okay, thank you.

[inhaling, exhaling]

[breathing deeply]
Oh. Oh, that's good.

Okay.
I'm good, thank you so much.

- Okay, so- so what's the play?
- Yeah.

So the first priority

is we need to figure out
why the key didn't work.

What? No, GI Jane-isha.

First priority is get
fuckin' Film School back

and get the fuck
out of Brightmoor.

Well, how the fuck are
we supposed to do that?

TEA: Listen, we stay put,
we stay safe,

- we ride this shit out.
- [knocking on door]

- Shit!
- Who is it now?

TEA: X, don't get that shit!

- Don't get that shit!
- No, no, no! Please!

TEA: Don't answer that shit!

- Sorry I'm late, boo.
- Pandora,

you were supposed
to be here yesterday!

Shit. You want
your hair braided or not?

- XAVIER: Yeah.
- Y'all see next door?

Brightmoor locked down.
Cartier ain't playing.

He looking for somebody!

XAVIER: It's always
something over here.

Since when you had all this
company? Where they come from?

What, I can't have company?
Come on. Let's go.

Come on.

So we really gon'
let hair girl stay?

We have to! Soon as she leaves,

she'll start blabbing that it's
four randos holed up in here.

Hey, Film School falling apart,

and I think Tea ex might
fuck around and snitch on us.

His DJing ex was a snitch.

Ah, don't- Ah! You got a type.

Okay, listen, I'll keep X cool.

You make sure
Film School is stable.

Y'all ain't hungry?

[sighs]

DIARRA: Film School. You good?

[Film School screams]

CARTIER: Put the word out
to all my soldiers.

They shot up the bar
and they took my director.

- Get out of here. Come on.
- [woman whimpering]

- Let's go.
- Where's the director?

Get on the ground. Come on.

CARTIER: A girl with two dudes.

Could be Gratiot Kings,
could be Woodward Boys.

Bring them to me.

[newscaster] Authorities
are still looking for

a local filmmaker who
disappeared three weeks ago.

Omari Jones was last seen
in the Brightmoor neighborhood.

If you have any information
about his whereabouts...

- Pink denim. She had-
- Where's the director?

- [indistinct]
- Skinny girl.

Stay away from the windows.

- Can't believe this shit.
- Okay. All right.

Let's calm down, Film School.

Let's stay calm. You wanna talk?

'Cause you've had resting PTSD
face since we been here, okay?

No shit.

Okay! So tell me about it.

Talk to me.

Okay, look.

Three months ago, right?

I was at a film festival
in Chicago with my short.

That's where I met Cartier.

We started talking.

He said he's from
Detroit like me.

We was hitting it off.

And he would love
to fund my next project.

Coppola did it.
You know, Scorsese.

They took the money
from the mob, right?

- Of course.
- Right?

White people do it all the time.

Yes! And I was like,
"You know something?

"I can take this money

"and make the greatest
Tubi movie of all time."

- So I thought.
- Mmm.

When I got to set,
there was no budget.

Just one light.

One day off in a month.

And this dude Cartier
was fucking crazy.

Man, every time I didn't take
one of his notes, oh, my God,

he would beat the shit
out my AD.

But then one day I mustered up
the confidence to leave.

And when I tried to do that,
he Fats Wallered me.

Come again?

The piano player.

DIARRA: Film School
told me Al Capone

once kidnapped a piano player
named Fats Waller,

forced him to perform for days.

An African warlord did the
same thing to Fat Joe and DMX.

"Play the piano.
Play the piano. Play the piano."

Okay,
so while you were Fats Wallered,

did Cartier ever mention a map?

Well, Cartier would sit there,

and he'd be just talking to me
about gangster knickknacks.

And he'd be talking to me all
regular, like we best friends,

like he didn't have me
chained to a fucking radiator!

But, uh,
to answer your question,

he didn't mention any naps.

Fuck!

We should try again.

Jesus Christ. [sighs]

GOON:
Couldn't have gone too far.

They either on this block
or the next.

[tense music]

***

[engines rumbling]

***

DANGER: Michigan Vanguard.

The fucking militia?

BAILEY: Let's make it quick.
It's all in here.

[indistinct chatter]

MILITIA MAN 1:
You know the plan.

Don't worry. We'll be ready.

***

Hey, are you okay?

[chuckling]

[sighs] You're not the only one
with problems, Film School.

I couldn't file away
inconvenient thoughts

and feelings forever.

This was about more than
getting him out to dump him.

I missed him. I missed Chris.

You know, I'm trying-

I am trying to compartmentalize,
you know?

Just stay laser-focused
on high-priority issues.

But I feel like I just ran
full speed into a brick wall.

And?

And, nosy...

I missed a call
from my boyfriend.

Look, focus don't
always have to be sharp.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

If you make the focus soft
in the background,

it makes the subject pop.

It's almost like it makes it-

makes it that you see a feeling.

So you can take in
the whole picture.

DIARRA: I wasn't sure
if Detroit Ryan Coogler was

gonna bust a nut over
talking cinematography,

but at least he was stable.

Soft focus, huh?

Soft focus.

Well, let's drink to that.

Come on.

I'll race you.

Hey, hey, but seriously.

He'll call.

TEA: Xavier, what the fuck?
What do you want from me?

We sitting here arguing like
a bunch of chicks. What's up?

See, that's that internalized
homophobia bullshit.

Nah, nah,
I'm good with how I get down.

Then why did we never
leave your apartment?

MAC: Tea.

Offer this nigga some closure
so he don't rat us the fuck out.

Come on, man.

You took too many to-go plates.

- What?
- Yeah, run that back?

At my aunt's cookout.
You brought your own Tupperware.

I went into the kitchen
and it looked like

you was fuckin' meal prepping.

It's a scarcity mindset.
I can't do it.

- I took a doggie bag. Once.
- More than once.

More than once.

Reggie, you are the one with
the damn scarcity mindset!

Your daddy was withholding
and now you don't think

there's enough love
to go around.

You give out your little muffins
'cause you scared

that someone will
give one to you.

- Fucking coward.
- MAC: Damn!

DIARRA: I was talking to
Film School, but per his advice,

kept Pandora in my soft focus.

And a few other things.

I knew the minute she went
out that door, we were cooked.

PANDORA: Okay. I'ma head out.

Hope you like your braids, X.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
Hey, girl.

Um, X's dad said
he wanted some braids, too.

I want what now?

Ow. Why your fingers
so thick, little girl?

[motorcycle engines revving]

GOON 1: We gotta go
house to house.

Cartier wants these guys found.

GOON 2: Spread out.
Check the whole neighborhood.

DIARRA: I never stopped
focusing on the treasure.

But I let living in the moment
in the picture too,

as a matter of survival.

And somehow,
we just started talking.

But I do think Toy Story
is the greatest movie ever made.

- Oh, my God. Wow!
- What?

When Takers was right there?

Not Takers. The Color Purple.

- Harlem Nights.
- Harlem Nights.

- Harlem Nights.
- Has the boyfriend called?

- No.
- PANDORA: Sorry, girl.

The world is full of fuckboys.
They everywhere.

- Even he was a fuckboy.
- I'm sorry, did you just call

our greatest
civil rights leader a f-boy?

Well, you know,
he did have a lot of hoes.

I mean,
the FBI was definitely in a van

across the street jerking off.

- Damn, Dee. You going to hell.
- What?

I'm not taking
anything away from him.

He was a luminary ordained
by God, period.

And he was on
some freak nigga shit.

How is your freaky ass not able
to deal with that dichotomy?

- Understood.
- MAC: Man had a dream.

A wet one. But why is it
the most prestigious niggas

that always be wilding out
the most, though?

FILM SCHOOL: Hey, look, a man
always have two stories, okay?

You know, there's the one
they show, and...

the one they hide,

and at the end of the day,
they both can be true.

DIARRA: That's when it hit me.

Duncan Duckett could've
been compartmentalizing too.

- Gangsta.
- Business owner.

DIARRA: One man, two stories.

[clears throat]

[whispering]
Get rid of hair girl.

Hey, um, uh, you mind
getting me another Kool-Aid?

I had red. Thank you.
Thank you, beautiful.

Okay, what if the Professor
and museum lady

were both right about Dunc?

Okay, so he was
a church-going family man

- and a bootlegging gangster.
- Exactly.

There were two keyholes
in Cartier's fireplace.

So X would mark two spots,
'cause there was two keys.

- For his two lives.
- MAC: Damn.

His letter did say
"to my queen."

Not "to my wife."

What if the letter was to
his side piece and her son?

Ugh. We missed it.

"To find my fortune,
you must get Lucky."

Shit. "Lucky" was capitalized.

That's the name
of his other son.

He gives this piece to
his illegitimate son, right?

He tells him,
"Go find your brother Lucky.

"He has the other key,

"and you need both
to unlock my fortune."

Shit, we don't have
the other piece.

- Right.
- [sighing]

[chuckles] I've seen
a queen like that before.

Yeah,
in that nigga Cartier's office.

Except he had a white one.

He said he got it
at an estate sale.

- Yes!
- [laughing]

- Wow.
- Yes! Yes, Film School!

I had no clue how I was getting
back into Cartier's office,

but something more pressing
entered my soft focus:

Pandora was
putting on her shoes.

You sold us out.

PANDORA: Sorry, y'all.

Cartier was offering 2K
for his director back.

But y'all a vibe, though.

[pounding on door]

- GOON: This is F-Mob!
- Go, go!

- GOON: Open this fucking door!
- There's a back door.

Take the stairwell down
to the basement apartment

and then cut through
the vacant lot.

Be brave.

Okay, niggas, let's go!

- Tea, here.
- Okay. Well, come on.

I'm coming,
I'm right behind you. Go, go.

- [goons shouting]
- Just...

Xavier was giving us an out,

but I knew there was
only one way

- back into Cartier's office.
- [door slams open]

XAVIER: Hey,
get the fuck off my porch!

[barking]

CARTIER: Hoffa, get gone!

This bitch
the only one we found.

Except some old nigga
on some oxygen.

DIARRA:
12 hours after a gang war,

it was business as usual.

Nobody had even called
the cops in Brightmoor.

See, that was the power of-

Mr. Kelly. Cartier.

Do you mind if I call you that?

Ooh!

Mr. Kelly it is.

CARTIER: You know
the best part about being me?

After you scalp
a couple of dozen niggas,

you get freedom of expression.

You can do you.

Niggas ain't gonna say shit.

So I wrote a screenplay.
It's entitled Buffs and Bitches.

Pathos like a motherfucker.

Then you roll up and kidnap
my visionary director.

Disrupt my set
with civilians present.

Bitch!

That's a war crime.

Respectfully...

in my defense,

I feel like your director
was already kidnapped.

[clattering]

[Tea grunting]

Dee let them take her
so she could distract Cartier.

But we still gotta move quick.

MAC:
Film School said check the desk.

Where are you? Where the fuck...

MAC: Tea, come on, man.
Hurry the fuck up.

TEA: Come on, come on, come on.
Where are you? Where are you?

[Tea laughing]

You work with the Gratiot Kings?

What? No.

You with the Woodward Boys?

No. What? Hell no.

Pump ain't no Velvet.

He's weak.

The streets know it.

DIARRA: Cartier didn't mean to,

but he put me up on game.

It was clear Velvet dying
had left a power vacuum.

One that he was trying
to step into.

Oh, my God.

Sir, I have no idea
what you're talking about.

I'm a private investigator.

Bullshit. This summer,
all you niggas is going down.

You picked the right one...

on the wrong god damn week.

[glass shattering]

DIARRA:
And that's when I saw it,

in the gap between
the man and the legend.

- [sighing]
- A genuine sadness.

A man wrestling with
his personal guilt.

I knew what that looked like.

FILM SCHOOL:
One day off in a month.

DIARRA: Motorcycle gloves.

And I realized he wasn't keeping
a trophy from a Coney victim.

He was holding vigil.

My nigga, get the towels ready.

No. Wait, wait, wait.

- Get the thick ones.
- Wait, wait.

No, no, no, no.
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Sam "Big Surge" Davis was F-Mob.

You went to his funeral.

It- it was the only day
that you took off from

the movie all month because, um,

because he meant
something to you.

The fuck you know about it?

I know he was-
he was killed over a treasure.

Wait.

So, you heard
that urban legend too.

The story of Dunc's Nut.

[breathing shakily]

Old head in the joint
told me about it.

Black man.

Stole from the Purples.

Stashed them Jewish nigga's gold

and left it to his two sons.

Sons end up killing
each other, so...

Dunc's Nut is...

somewhere out there still.

Probably worth
a hundred million by now.

A hundred million dollars?

Yes, that is- that is also-

That is what I heard also.

Surge did remind me
about that old story.

Wanted me to tell it to him
again a couple of weeks ago.

Surge was my wife's nephew.

She thought I sent him
to that damn Coney.

Said my street
shit got him killed.

I didn't even know
why he was there.

DIARRA: Suddenly,
I wasn't liking him so much

for all that Coney killing.

You might be onto something.

Okay.

Miss private investigator,

I can think of one reason
not to kill your fucking ass.

You're gonna bring me
and my wife some peace.

Hey, uh, forget the towels.

We're not gonna need them.

Yet.

[locks clicking]

MAC: Damn. Anything?
What the fuck?

Okay, wait, wait.

He left these for his two sons,

but he didn't leave the pieces
in the same place, right?

Right, he had his queen and
his wife, like church and state.

But he wanted his kids
to find each other

and work together, right?

So, what you saying?

[both] Same time.

Okay, wait, ready?

- Yup.
- BOTH: One, two, three.

[mechanism creaking]

- [laughing]
- Oh, shit.

Yo, this is crazy.

I'm not going in there.

I'm going in there, ain't I?

Fuck.

So this dude, Deonte, milk
carton killer, he didn't do it?

No, the police
have the wrong guy.

I am sure about that.

I was gonna have him
shanked today.

- What?
- Let me call that shit off.

Yes, call the shit off, please.

- Please.
- Cancel that shit.

Please.

Hey, but that other thing
is still a go.

Shut 'em down.

Okay, but the shanking thing,
that's off, right?

For now.

[Diarra sighing]

But you just entered
into a contract.

You're gonna find out
who killed my nephew.

Or I'ma find your people...

and make you suffer.

Same way my wife
is suffering right now.

- Understand?
- Mm-hmm.

I'd graduated from putting
out fires with gasoline

to simply pouring napalm
all over every fucking thing.

And just to be clear,

you didn't blow up my Chevelle
and try to kill me before?

These are all just
new threats, right?

Blow up a Chevelle.

- Good condition?
- Mint.

[chuckling]

No, that wasn't me.

You're looking for
a bitch-ass nigga, or a female.

[phone buzzing]

Do you have a bathroom
I could use?

I think
I just started my period.

Make it quick. We ain't done.

And we got an assortment
of sanitary napkins over there.

We're not uncivilized.

TEA: You see anything good?

MAC:
A dark hole, some spider webs.

- [gasps] Wait.
- [door opening]

Okay.

We got about a minute.

- This is cool.
- MAC: Here's your treasure.

[grunting]

[coughing]

DIARRA: What?

No, no, no, Mac,
Cartier said it was gold.

That's all I found down there.

- [door rattling]
- Doesn't matter,

- we gotta go now.
- GOON: Who's there?

Open up, or I'ma bust it down.

Okay, Mac,
how far does the tunnel go?

- Pretty far.
- Come on, let's go.

Take that, take that.

[coughing]

[door rattling, clattering]

[crickets chirping]

[Diarra grunting]

DIARRA: That's when we learned

crackheads might not
travel by portal,

but they might have discovered
old bootlegging tunnels.

[distant gunshots]

[distant gunshots]

[phone ringing]

Hello there, Chris.

JOSH: Are you ready
for delivery?

Oh, it's you. Yes, please.

- I am sharing my location.
- This nigga really coming

- during a gang war?
- Yes.

- [car approaching]
- [distant gunshots]

DIARRA:
In the midst of a gang war,

I'd managed to use
one of my problems...

to solve another.

- JOSH: Miss Bricklin.
- Hi.

It's Josh with Auto Trek.
Hi. Jeep Wrangler.

- [gunshots]
- Oh!

Yes, that's me. Where do I sign?

- Right here.
- DIARRA: I'd come to call that

"the Brightmoor Lesson."

[rapid gunfire]

- Can I set up the Bluetooth?
- Keys, keys, keys!

Thank you.

And I got party favors,
pimp daddy.

Oh, shit.

"Pimp" going down one side,

"daddy" going down
the other side, all diamond.

DIARRA:
One of Cartier's soldiers

must have snatched it off you
and gave it to him as a gift.

Detroit motherfucking Jones.

And don't you ever
motherfucking forget it.

[tires screeching]

Good luck!

- [tires screeching]
- JOSH: Good luck?

[gunshots]

[Diarra exclaiming]

- DIARRA: Cartier who?
- TEA: I saw it.

MAC:
And I'ma get a number three.

DIARRA: We was out there, bitch.

- MAC: Hold up.
- DIARRA: Oh.

TEA: They blocking the road.
Slow down, Dee.

- DIARRA: Oh, fuck.
- MAC: Oh, no.

- DIARRA: Fuck, fuck, fuck.
- MAC: All right.

Go ahead and take these off.

DIARRA: Maybe we all just...

Oh, shit.

What y'all doing out here?

Evening.

We're part of the film crew.

We do the behind the scenes
stuff, like a documentary.

- Who these niggas?
- The sound guy.

Craft services.

DIARRA:
Maybe you've seen my work.

I did a doc called
Griots on the Fringe

about the legendary strippers
of Eden's Ethiopia.

Griots on the fucking fringe,
are you serious?

Mac, shut the fuck up.

- You could've said anything.
- Shut the fuck up!

Look like a bob.

That her?

Cinnamon say hi.

They all right.

My auntie was a Flamingo.

This girl here a director.

- [chuckling weakly]
- Y'all get home safe.

- MAC: Appreciate you, man.
- DIARRA: Thank you.

MAC: Oh, my God.

You are a fucking genius.

Let's get the fuck out of here.

- TEA: Thank you so much.
- RAQUEEBA: You're welcome.

Damn, she threw down.

I love a woman that can cook.

- Yeah?
- MAC: Hell yeah.

[Diarra coughing]

DIARRA: "My sons,

"now that you are one,
let the games begin."

The painting's a clue.

This is only the beginning.

Like Dunc,
both of my stories were true

and I wasn't
running from either.

In one, I was an urban legend,

a PI with a murder to solve
and villains to battle.

How many buffs
you take from his office?

DIARRA: And I was a teacher,

riding the breakup limbo
rollercoaster

while mulling over motherhood on
an unpaid summer vacation.

All I knew for sure,

both parts of me were careening
towards the same thing,

a pot of gold hidden somewhere
in the heart of the city.

Y'all...

there's $100,000,000
out there...

and we're gonna find it.

- Hell yeah.
- I'll drink to that.

I'm- I'm sorry, boss.
She- she got away.

Don't trip.

I'm gonna keep this bitch
on a long leash.

Now close this shit up.

I think this she's gonna
help us win this war.

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