All language subtitles for Another.Barrio.2017.HDRip.AC3.X264-CMRG-HI

Subtitles by explosiveskull

(haunting electronic tones)

(helicopter hums)

(midtempo jazz music)

[Dispatcher]
Attention all units

in the vicinity of
16th and Valencia.

Fire raging out of control
at the Golden Bay Hotel.

Fire Captain
requesting assistance.

(sirens blare)
(horns honk)

Repeat, all units in the
vicinity of 16th and Valencia.

Fire Captain
requesting assistance.

(horn blares)

(rain patters)

(engine hums)

(apple crunches)

(thunder rumbles)

(apple crunches)

What happened, big guy?

He died of smoke inhalation.

You got any names?

No.

You got some more in the corner.

Jesus Christ.

(ominous music)

We ran outta gurneys.

(Bob coughs)

[Bob] Nobody even knew
these poor bastards.

I could see the process
starting already.

Immigration, tracking clues.

Find hometowns, arrange for
transportation of bodies.

These guys were
human sacrifices.

But to what god?

I needed to see them.

See the corpses so the
rage would keep me going.

This would be tricky.

Nothing was as it appeared.

Even the tall Samoan at the
morgue wasn't Samoan at all.

He was a tall Tongan bastard.

(footsteps click)

(Bob coughs)

(midtempo electronic music)

(helicopter hums)

It all started earlier that
evening, around five o'clock,

just as I was getting
ready to leave work.

- Bob?
- Yeah?

I need to meet with
you first thing Monday.

You'll have all
weekend to figure out

what really happened at
the Golden Bay Hotel.

I don't think we
wanna drag ourselves

into something politically, sir.

Listen, Bob.

This is not the kind of job
where you get to pick and choose

which cases you work on.

I cited that hotel three times

but never for a fire hazard,
just the usual stuff,

rats, infestations, garbage.

Had there been a fire hazard,

God himself could
not have stopped me

from citing that landlord
and making him fix it

that goddamned day.

Do you know Bob?

I really don't care.

Mr. Choy.

All I know is your
job is on the line.

On Monday, you bring in
the last inspection report,

and it better damn well
mention the fire hazard.

Well, it won't
mention a fire hazard

because none existed.

Seven people died
in that fire, sir.

Seven people that did
not have to die, okay?

I'm not going to carry
them around, sir.

They're not my dead, Mr. Choy.

They didn't have to die,
goddamn it, you hear me?

They didn't have to die, sir.

You hear me?

What's wrong with
this department?

Fucking bureaucrats.

(gentle jazz music)

I make my bones as a
humble housing inspector.

I make sure rats and people
don't share the same space.

I learned to navigate the
back alleys of the mission

as a kid, running these
streets in the barrio,

we owned the place.

On the dirty, low-down
underbelly side of town,

these garages
turned into in laws

where three families
lived packed in tight,

desperate as boat people.

The closets redone into
master bedroom suites.

Got a hot plate?

Plug it in.

And now these techie culture
vultures are walking around,

and the post-bubble hipsters

are popping up like
pimples on a junkie's arm.

You can see them
pushing baby strollers

and eating their gelato,
cruising their Beamers

and $3,000 peddle bikes.

Calculating how
much it would take

to run everybody out of here.

Don't get me wrong, this
city's a beautiful place

but where I live, it's
truly another barrio.

(haunting electronic music)

(uptempo orchestral music)

[Reporter] Good evening.

It was on the corner
of 16th and Valencia,

the Golden Bay Hotel, a
once elegant residence

for out of town visitors,
tonight a pile of burnt lumber.

Recently, the Golden Bay
had been a run-down refuge

for the unemployed and
displaced families.

There were seven fatalities.

Our own Rigo Chacon
has the story.

Rigo.

The fire broke out at about
three o'clock in the morning.

There were witnesses,
many of them coming out

of this neighborhood bar when
they looked across the street

and saw a raging fire.

One of them called 911.

'Cause it is Saturday night
every night at Esta Noche.

Esta Noche, tonight, this night.

(uptempo dance music)
(patrons chatter)

(distant sirens blare)

(woman giggles)

♪ You think you can get away
with everything you do ♪

♪ Did you really think I
would never catch on to you ♪

♪ Last night you thought you
had me in your sight, oh ♪

♪ But I know what's been
keepin' you away from me ♪

♪ All those nights ♪

♪ You keep livin', livin',
livin' that double life ♪

♪ Givin', givin', givin'
me all your lies ♪

♪ Livin', livin', livin'
that double life ♪

♪ Givin', givin', givin'
me all your lies ♪

♪ Thought you were smart ♪

♪ You were covered in tracks ♪

♪ I won't take you back ♪

♪ You keep livin' livin'
livin' that double life ♪

♪ Givin', givin', givin'
me all your lies ♪

♪ So much to learn ♪

♪ You can watch us
burn away, away ♪

♪ You keep livin', livin',
livin' that double life ♪

♪ Givin', givin', givin'
me all your lies ♪

♪ Talk to me stay away from me ♪

♪ Get out of my life ♪

♪ You keep livin', livin',
livin' that double life ♪

♪ Givin', givin', givin'
me all your lies ♪

[Woman] What are
you doing around here?

Investigating a fire.

You hear anything about a fire?

Maybe, maybe not.

What have you heard?

(distant siren blares)

Let's watch the show.

(lighter clinks)

(lighter clicks)

(traffic hums)

Jessi, excellent show.

Thank you.

- Terrific energy.
- Thank you.

I mean it.

What did you see that night?

What did you see?

(speaks in foreign language)
I was standing right here

- with Nido.
- Okay.

When all of a sudden,

the flames just shot
out all at once.

- Take it easy.
- It was just like a whoosh!

Licking up the side
of the building.

The flames didn't come
from inside the building?

No, (speaks in
foreign language).

You sure?

From the outside.

What else did you see?

Two men running away.

Are you sure about that?

I'm sure they were men,
as sure as I'm La Jessica.

These men that you saw,
could you identify them, Jessi?

Maybe.

Maybe, maybe's
not good enough.

Could you identify them?

Well.

What did they look like?

Well they had big muscles.

They were, you know (speaks
in foreign language).

All right, okay,
thank you for that.

Listen, that's
good enough for me.

That and what you saw.

So uh, thank you.

(haunting electronic music)

(midtempo instrumental music)

- Heh-hey.
- Hey man, what's up?

(speaks in foreign
language) What's up, brother?

What you pourin'
tonight, what you got?

(bartender speaks
in foreign language)

What are you servin'
today, brother?

- All right.
- A glass of vino for you.

Little Chilean.

Try it.

- It looks good.
- Try it.

(engine hums)

Nice, nice.

Sensational, man.

I love it here, I
love it here, brother.

[Bartender] You
need some more?

I'm good, I'm good,
I'm good, I'm good.

What's that song playing, man?

It reminds me of something.

[Bartender] Man.

What is that?

Reminds me of
Compay Segundo, man.

[Bob] That's it, that's it.

You know, his real name
was Francisco Repilado?

[Bob] Repilado.

Checked out after 93 years
of smokin' them cigars.

No shit.

[Bartender] No shit.

- Wow.
- Yeah.

[Bob] Checked out.

Gone.

This year, my amigo, poet
and brother Piedro Petri

had moved on to
the other barrio.

Petey Thomas before him, and
Victor Martinez, rest in peace.

And today was the anniversary
of my compandre's death,

whom I'd known 30 years.

And now, there were seven more

who checked into
the other barrio,

took that one way ticket
on the mission 14 line

all the way to the cemeteries
in Colma, California.

Blood of Christ.

God damn, the dead
were all around me.

Urging me to keep on living.

To keep their memories alive.

Hey man, I gotta go.

Thank you so much much, brother.

All right.

Appreciate it, all right?

That sounds good,
I like that music.

[Bartender] Take care, man.

Some good shit,
that wine's good.

All right.

Muchas gracias.

- De nada.
- Thank you.

Whoa man, what's up?

You Morales?

Who the fuck's askin'?

Mike Callahan wants
to speak to you.

Callahan wants to see me?

Well Callahan's not
on my social calendar.

Hey, hey, that's
twice, what the fuck?

Fuckin' great.

Let's go see Callahan, man.

All right, let's
go, curious guy.

(ominous electronic music)

We going to Jersey?

That's what Michael Corleone
said in The Godfather.

And Sollozo said maybe, and
McClusky's sitting right there,

I kind of feel like
Huey and Dewey,

you guys are like some big
time Godfather muscle, eh?

Callahan still signing
your checks, eh?

Keeps you dressed nice in
your fine black leathers.

I think you guys might be
some Russian river muscle.

Your boss walks around City
Hall like he owns the place,

doesn't he?

You guys know seven
people died in that fire?

I think you care,
Huey and Dewey,

but you're not allowed
to show emotion.

What you lookin' at?
(speaks in foreign language)

Well let me tell you
man, old school mission.

The low riders and the homies,

they're in the other
barrio already.

Why don't you come down
to The Mission, man?

We'll have doughnuts at the
old Hunt's Doughnut Shop,

number 14 bus comes along the
Mission 14, we'll jump on it.

Give you a tour of
the other barrio.

Punch a one way ticket to Colma.

That's where seven people
are headed right now.

Sittin' at the fuckin'
morgue office right now.

Does Callahan give
a fuck about that?

I know you do,
Huey and Dewey, eh?

Fuckin' beautiful
neighborhood, man.

That was the real mission,
that's what we're losin'.

Huey and Dewey,
how come Callahan

ain't fighting for
the old mission, huh?

Clooney's and The Dover Club,

the last old white men
bars of The Mission, eh?

'Cause if you know
about The Mission,

you know, you know,
you know, man,

but if you don't
know, you don't know.

Fuck you Huey and Dewey.

Grow a pair, will you?

Get a conscience.

God bless you, all right,
get me the fuck outta here.

(door thuds)

(door thuds)

He's at the end of the pier.

I used to go fishing there.

You should try fishing.

(midtempo jazz music)

Mr. Morales, you smoke cigars?

So what you so pissed off about?

Go on, spit it out.

I cited The Golden Bay Hotel.

The one that burned.

Not for fire hazard.

'Cause a fire
hazard didn't exist.

I don't follow you.

It burned down on
my watch, Callahan.

I'm a fall guy, I don't
like being a fall guy.

(chuckles) If that's
what you're worried about...

No, I'm worried about
seven people that died.

Okay, it wasn't an accident.

It was a flea bag hotel.

Everything changes.

You should know it was
against city ordinance

to tear down low income housing.

I think you know that.

Hey, someone was careless.

That's the way to look at it.

It won't be an
inconvenience to you.

I can't explain
inconvenience to seven families

of seven corpses at the morgue.

You see that, that there?

Let me tell you, it was
the highway to the future.

You can ride it, or you can,
well, be run over by it.

Looks like a
fuckin' nightmare.

I'm gonna find out
how that fire started.

Just so you know, Mr. Callahan.

You have a loft
that's not warranted.

I've bot permits, man.

Hey, that's a
matter of opinion.

One of your neighbors
might file a complaint,

say it's illegal.

We're all illegal,
except the Ohlone,

and we destroyed
them a century ago.

(laughs) What are you,
some kind of do-gooder?

I found religion after
that fire, Mr. Callahan.

Look, Morales, nobody
appreciates a smart ass like you

stirring up trouble
for other people.

Let me remind you,
with your illegal loft,

your shit smells just as
bad, so think about it.

By the time
Callahan was finished

poking his 1% manicured
finger in my chest,

I realized the seven
dead from the motel fire

weren't even a part of the 99%.

I'll walk home.

Fighting City Hall would
be a hell of a lot easier

without these heartless
pricks on my back.

Ah, at least I ain't no
Sears and Roebuck Indian.

I knew me an Indian
once named Trader Joe.

(ominous electronic music)

(Bob mumbles)

(glass clatters)
(ominous electronic music)

(voice echoes in
foreign language)

(train chugs)

(Bob breathes heavily)

(midtempo jazz music)

I had to find out who might
have something to gain

by torching The Golden Bay.

The listed donor was a
one F. Delgado et al.

Address, something something
south Van Ness Avenue.

One of those old Victorian
mansions from another century

and the heart of the barrio.

(Bob knocks)

(Bob and woman speak
in foreign language)

No F. Delgado?

No.

Senora Lopez's house.

Lopez house. (speaks
in foreign language)

What's the matter?

Senora, hey.

Hey, Roberto.

[Bob] Hey, Sophia.

What are you doing here?

I'm looking for a F. Delgado.

I don't know any F. Delgado.

This is my aunt's house.

[Bob] Your aunt's house.

Yes, I'm her attorney.

Maybe I can talk to your aunt?

What's this about, Roberto?

Are you with the
police, I mean...

No, no, no, no, no,
I'm not with the police.

Not the police at all.

Investigating some housing
business and stuff.

Okay.

Sophia.

Okay well um, my aunt can't
talk to anybody right now,

she's sick.

She's sick.

[Sophia] I'm sorry.

Mm, maybe she's better, I can?

Maybe.

But you know, now's not
a good time, I gotta go.

I have an appointment.

I understand.

[Sophia] Can I give
you a ride anywhere?

I'm going to
16th and Valencia.

Maybe if you could drop
me off, that'd be great.

(ominous electronic music)

[Sophia] I hardly
even recognize you.

It's been a while.

So you're working for the city?

Department of
building inspections.

Crack down on deadbeat landlords

that don't provide livable,
habitable living spaces

for people.

Worked in Chinatown,
Western addition, Filmore.

What on earth is going on in
the Mission, rent's so high.

We're focused right
here in the barrio.

That makes sense.

Got a woman in your life?

Yeah, no.

Yes, no.

Yes or no?

Amanda left me.

She did?

I'm a loser.

Our formerly happy loft
space that we lived in

is a sad space now, and I try
not to spend any time there,

so I basically hang out in
nameless, faceless bars.

You do that, so
you're telling me

you lost your way with women.

I lost my way with
women when I lost you.

Yeah, hey um, there's a band
playing tonight from New York.

I just feel like
some live music.

I want it to blow
right through me.

Feel like maybe?

Why not?

Screw it, who cares.

When's the last
time you went dancing?

1999. (giggles)

(whistles) Old school.

I was there, I remember.

[Sophia] Yeah you were.

So pick me up in
front of the can factory

about a quarter to nine, okay?

We'll take it from there.

All right.

Keep it real, counselor.

Later, Kenny.

(shutter clicks)

(ominous electronic music)

The word was already
out on the street.

This was a frame job.

The bulldozers and
the wrecking balls

stood poised to knock down
the side of the building

facing Valencia Street,
but the fire had started

on the 16th Street side.

It was becoming obvious to
me what had happened here,

something caught fire
in the passageway,

right underneath
the fire escape.

And the sons of bitches,

they could've spared
the fire escape,

giving those trapped
inside a chance to get out,

but they hadn't
even given 'em that.

These people, they
had no chance.

[Officer] Morales, what
the hell are you doing?

Taking pictures of the site.

For your scrapbook?

Get the fuck outta here.

If someone's
destroying evidence,

someone has the right
to do that, officer.

Well, you're a day late.

The DA has all the
photos he needs.

(laughs) How can he?

Someone's fuckin'
destroying the site.

Are you doubting me,
you flat-ass Mexican?

Flat-ass Mexican, that's
all you got, officer?

Look man, seven people died
here, I'm gonna find out why.

Oh, I bet you are because
it's on your ass now, isn't it?

You're the one who
overlooked the fire hazards,

and now it's on your conscience.

If faggot liberals like
you have a conscience,

is that right?

Have it your way, genius.

Thank you, officers.

Have a good day, brilliant.

It was clear someone was
trying to bury this thing

and bury it quick.

It was too messy for
them, but who were they?

Who was F. Delgado and et al?

Who owned the goddamn hotel?

So I figured it
something like this.

Sophia's aunt was part
of the et al, yeah.

And Sophia was lying
to protect her.

Or, Sophia didn't know
shit about anything,

but as her aunt's attorney,
that seemed far-fetched.

Here you go, (speaks
in foreign language).

Hey, that looks great.

Looks delicious.

You're welcome.

That's for you.

Aye, senor Roberto.

Thank you, my family
really appreciates it.

I know you do.

It's for your vacation
to San Pedro Sula.

See, Sula.

I got it right, Sula.

I love your Ecuadorian flag.

- Hondurena.
- Hondurena.

Miss Mary, I favor
to ask of you.

Okay.

I wondered if you
would keep these things

here in the restaurant
for a couple of days only.

Okay.

Put them somewhere
no one can find them.

I trust you.

There it is.

Honey, with a tip like that,
I'll do anything you want.

Don't say that.

Thank you.

(gentle jazz music)

- Morales.
- Yeah?

(punch thuds)

Aw, shit.

(thief speaks in
foreign language)

Hey.

Nothing wrong with being a
(speaks in foreign language)

you fucker.

Oh no.

Hella got my briefcase.

[Sophia] Come on.

Tell me about it in the car.

[Bob] Son of a bitch.

(engine revs)

[Sophia] You would do anything

to come to my place tonight.

Yeah.

That's funny.

Ooh.

I didn't even see their
goddamn faces, these bastards.

[Sophia] The
neighborhood's going to shit.

It's getting so violent.

I don't think
that's what it was.

Then what else could it be?

I don't know yet,
I don't know yet,

it's something, something's
going on, I mean, thank you.

Thank you.

Careful girl, now.

- Easy, easy.
- Sorry.

Does blood make you nervous?

No.

Just take it easy, will you?

Okay.

I killed a guy one time.

I was 17 years old.

Stupid ass teenage gang shit,

and we thought we
were gangsters.

This (speaks in foreign
language) was kickin' my ass

all his boys were
surrounding me,

I thought they were gonna.

There was a pipe on the
ground, I picked it up.

I just kept hitting the
(speaks in foreign language).

I just, hitting him
over, over, over,

till he was dead, he was
(speaks in foreign language)

you know?

Why are you telling me this?

I don't, I don't know, I've
never told anyone before,

I've just.

Can I ask you a question?

Yeah?

Can you be trusted?

What do you wanna ask me?

Goddamn it, Sophia,
can you be trusted?

Yes, I can be trusted.

What do you wanna ask me?

Your aunt.

Your aunt.

She's powerful.

Yeah, no shit.

She knows too much about me.

Like what?

She provides the fronts.

I cook up the contracts.

I make sure everything's legal.

You're talkin'
about apartments?

It's an insurance scam.

Plus with that hotel going down,

they can build something new.

They could make a lot of money.

- Holy shit.
- A few million.

Every apartment
fire in the nation

since the 70s, 80s, and 90s,

those apartments are now
condos and upper class spaces.

Is this what we're
talking about?

Hello, yes.

What's her real goddamn name?

Ahora Felicia Delgado Lopez.

Shit.

I think she ordered the fire.

Wait a minute, wait a minute,

why are you saying
that, counselor?

You can't just throw
that out there like that.

She's got the
mayor in one pocket.

She's got the chief of
police in the other pocket.

There's just a lot
of money involved,

a lot of people
involved, and it's just,

you can't stand
up to them, okay?

They'll hurt you.

They'll hurt you bad, Roberto.

I just, everyone
involved, a lot of money,

the Builder's Association,

they got a blueprint
for The Mission.

I just met with
this contractor,

Callahan, out at the pier.

Shit like that, Jesus Christ.

You're gonna have
to decide, Sophia.

It's your choice,
it's your conscience.

I have the documentation.

It's in my office.

I have a witness
named La Jessica,

a terrific dancer,
a great person,

I mean maybe the three of us,

we could finally bring
down this whole bitch.

I mean, we gotta nail
her to the ground.

I'm sorry, I know
she's your aunt,

but this, we gotta get her.

What's up with that
flaming broad right there?

Purgatory.

Where'd you get it?

It was a gift.

Why is it there?

Our souls, cleanse our sins.

Who gave it to you?

My aunt.

Delgado.

Fuck me.

Do you trust me?

Do you trust me, Roberto?

(gentle jazz music)

Can I trust you?

You can trust me.

That's the question.

I can trust you?

I still love you, Sophia.

I can trust you, but
I just gotta know.

What?

Are you wearing a
wire, do you know?

No.

Are you wearing a wire?

I'm not wearing a wire.

How do I know, (speaks
in foreign language)?

I don't know, maybe your
aunt, she put one on you,

you don't even know.

I don't think she...

She's powerful.

God, she's powerful.

I have to do a full body
cavity search for the wire.

Get this hair down.

Easy, it's just hair,
hair makes me nervous.

Ooh.

I gotta get outta
here, it's late.

I'm tired, terrific
show, once again,

thank you so much.

Oh no, papi, going home alone?

Well.

(audience applauds)
(ominous music)

I'll be sifting for evidence.

Maybe you can come
talk to me again?

We'll talk more about
this man, I'm sorry.

Happy birthday.

Thank you, thank you
for the information.

It's very courageous of you.

Seven people died last night.

Good night, Jessi.

[Man] They fuck
everybody say fuck 'em.

(Bob groans)

The fuck?

Oh shit.

Sophia.

(Bob coughs)

Sophia?

What the hell?

There you are, eh?

Well, thank you.

Morning paper in bed,
yeah I like that.

The headline sent a
shock right through me.

La Jessica had been
found stabbed to death

in her hotel room.

Son of a bitch.

The paper was
speculating that a John

angry at having discovered
Jesus instead of Jessica

had taken out his male
rage with a 12-inch blade.

Well, I wasn't so convinced.

La Jessica was
flirtatious, but hey,

the lady was not a whore.

(pinball machine dings)

[Officer] Fucker.

(traffic hums)

(man yells in foreign language)

She knew too much.

Everybody knows that
place was torched.

I didn't even know
she had enemies, man.

It's sad.

She didn't.

She walked alone that night,
(speaks in foreign language).

That's messed up.

Very sorry about Jessica.

Sad, girl?

I'm very sorry, okay?

Mission forever,
remember, you said that?

That's right, homeboy.

Jessi forever.

We're gonna find out
what happened here.

Fuckin' eight dead,
eight dead now.

Eight dead.

(ominous music)

(pinball machine dings)

Is this really necessary
Johnson, you asshole?

Lady's gonna lose her license.

[Officer] Fucker.

Receiving stolen
city property.

The camera's my own
personal property, a-hole.

You don't know shit, Johnson.

Yeah, well, it's evidence now.

Her license is gone.

We are merely retrieving
what belongs to the city.

(chuckles) Jesus Christ did
you fuck up this time, Morales.

Mm-mm-mm.

See you later, pussy.

I just cost Miss Mary her gig.

Miss Mary, I'm so sorry.

(Miss Mary sobs)

But I had a pretty good idea
who turned the cops on me.

(horns honk)
(siren blares)

Sophia.

(slap smacks)

- You double crossed me.
- What are you...

Bitch, you told them!

I didn't tell them anything!

You told them everything!

- I warned you!
- Bullshit!

Yes, I did.

If I double crossed you,
then why would I have this?

It's a list of all
the contributions

to the mayor, the chief
of police, the DA.

It's all in there.

Fuck.

If you didn't tell
'em, how did they know

all my shit was at
Miss Mary's, huh?

My files, my photos, everything?

We're not safe.

That's what's going on here.

We're not safe.

We need to get outta here.

I have an idea, come on.

Fucking going on here.

Son of a bitch.

God damn it.

Are you crazy,
what are you doing?

Yeah, I'm going crazy, Sophia.

I'm fucking crazy, yeah.

The lamp, the goddamn
lamp, I knew it.

Sone of a bitch.

What are you looking for?

(ominous music)

Oh my god.

Your motherfucking aunt
recorded every goddamn word

we said last night.

What do you think of
that, hm, counselor?

Everything?

Every goddamn thing.

We gotta get the
fuck outta here.

What, what do I pack?

Your lipsticks and chonies,
and backpack, go, go, go.

(uptempo electronic music)

I know a cove up Hateno Bay,

a friend of mine
has a motel there.

I think we can hide out
there for a few days.

See how this thing's
gonna play itself out,

we gage the fallout, whatever.

So let's do that.

- Yeah?
- Yeah, sounds good.

(engine revs)

[Bob] Who are these guys
right here, you know these guys?

No.

They look suspicious though.

(engine revs)

(tires screech)

(gun clicks)

(tires screech)
(gun fires)

Are you hit?

Sophia.

Oh my god.

Stay with me.

- Go.
- Stay with me!

- Go.
- Stay with me, stay with me!

I knew in that instant
my life was changing.

Go.

Punctuated by the horrible
sound of guns and the bullets

ripping through Sophia.

The before and after of this day

would scar whatever
life I have left.

I didn't wanna be around
when the cops arrived,

no sir, the way
things were going.

I was convinced they'd try
to pin Sophia's murder on me.

But one day, one day those
who did this will pay.

And I'll be around to see
it, you're fucking-a right.

(soft jazz music)

When I got back to La Mission,

I discovered my loft
had been torched.

Another warning from them,
I guess, the big boys.

Cocksucker!

(door thuds)

The graffiti didn't fool me.

Shit.

They would've liked to give
me a little tune up, I guess.

Obviously, I never
went back to the job.

I went underground
for my own protection.

The fix was in, see, my
evidence gone, evaporated.

Chain smoking and cleaning guns

seemed like my best option.

My only option.

Callahan was a big
city hall hero now,

and the big broad came
out on top once again.

Unscathed, bastards.

So dispatching them
to the other barrio

seemed like the only way to go.

Even though taking them all
down would've felt so good,

really it wouldn't have
changed a goddamn thing,

other than landing me
lifetime accommodations

and a nice view of San Quentin,

I couldn't find a way
to bring 'em down,

and I began to lose my grip.

I was falling further and
further down the rabbit hole.

(traffic hums)

(siren blares)

(uptempo Latin music)

Happy summer solstice!

(people chatter)

Hey.

Check it, so I'm gonna
create the perfect interface.

What I do is I set up the
designs in my entire app team,

create the app, order the best
drip coffee in The Mission,

I collect all the royalties,

and my 401K blows the
fuck up and boom, slam,

top of Google.

[Sophia] I never was able
to tell you this, Roberto,

but I killed a man, too.

My fiance and I were coming back

from a weekend of
wine tasting in Napa.

I was driving, a bit tipsy.

Horrible accident.

He died.

My aunt got me off the hook.

From that day on, she owned me.

I had to sell my soul
to stay out of jail.

[Woman] But how do I get
more gigs on the dropbox?

Just delete your current
dropbox and create an alias.

Right?

Right?

Yo, let's get a picture.

- Yeah.
- Let's get a picture,

let's get a picture.

- Get in, get in.
- You guys ready?

All right, selfie.

We're on a Mexican party
bus in The Mission.

There we go, all right.

(giggles) You blinked.

I'm gonna Instagram that.

- That's a good one.
- Oh my gosh.

We all look
pretty good in that.

Pretty good.

Do I look good? (laughs)

Nice, cheers.

Oh, okay.

New guy.

Can I ask you a question?

Yeah.

Do you think that the
stronger, hipper hipsters

are eating the weaker, more
uncool hipsters in The Mission,

just like.

(group chuckles)

Is there a cannibalism
thing going on?

That's a good question.

You mean, like,
like you mean like,

people having like the
munchies or something?

Sure, yeah.

Or like no, like, I'm
eating your culture.

Like a tortilla.

- Oh!
- What?

Oh, speaking of
tortillas, El Palalito!

El Palalito!

We are going.

And speaking of munchies,
we want some of this.

Smoke that, and then we're
going to get some tacos.

I'll take a hit.

- Oh you, wow.
- Yeah.

Shit.

Yeah, hipsters gone wild.

Don't do that to our new
friend over here. (laughs)

I think I'll call the cops
and ask them if they know.

What dude?

Wait, no, don't call,
you can't call the cops.

- Wait.
- Wait, dude, are you a cop?

Is this The Mission precinct?

Uh, yeah, nine 11 officer,

I'd like to report a crime
in The Mission district.

A crime of the century.

A high-tech stick up,

and I'm looking at
perpetrators right now.

Very good looking, very
fashionably dressed,

one guy looks like
Weezer, and um...

Whoa, dude.

Two Deathcab for Cutie chicks.

Whatever dude, I'll
take it, I like Weezer.

And I think that they are
cannibalizing The Mission,

and I'd like you to come and um,

put your red lights on
'cause I'm very, very scared.

I'm very scared.

We're just having
a nice time here.

We don't know you.

Dude, so am I. (laughs)

You done man, you done?

Having a good time, too.

All right, dude.

We're all just
having a good time.

- Let's just chill out, okay?
- All right.

Sorry about that.

We're all very cute and
very cool lookin' people.

- Thanks, dude.
- Okay.

You know, I used to
have to go to Napa Valley

to see white people,

now I just have to go
to 18th and Valencia

and I feel like a minority.

Isn't that weird?

- Is that just me?
- I don't know.

Well, that's kind of the
trajectory of the city.

I think what's
fuckin' weird is your,

why, why are you?

I'm sorry.

- Peace, peace.
- He's sorry.

Okay, I think
just somewhere else.

Am I weirding you,
am I making it weird?

No, you're good man,
we're just gonna leave.

- I'm sorry.
- Yeah, you know what?

It's a party, to
me, it's a fiesta.

Um, yeah, we'd like
to get off now, I think.

Driver?

[Bob] Be careful, sweetie.

[Woman] Yeah, you
have a good night.

[Bob] A good time to go.

All right, yep,
have a good time, man.

- Asshole.
- Chill the fuck out.

Work on that
41-OK thing you got.

[Man] Yeah, I plan on it.

[Bob] All right, man.

All right,
Nickelback, take care.

[Man] Uh yeah, okay.

(laughs) Hey, whoa.

You really cleared
out the joint.

Congratulations.

You know what I always ponder?

Why do they call 'em
hipsters, anyway?

The Beats, they were hip.

They were non-conformist.

These tech kids nowadays,
they're eager to conform.

These tech kids,

they make and find their
identity on the net.

Are you a fuckin' cop or what?

No.

Then why don't you
go sit somewhere else?

Why don't you pick on
someone your own mental size?

Kiss me.

(suspenseful electronic music)

Hi boys.

Everyone has to
wear the sombreros.

[Man] Really?

[Woman] Sorry man,
rules are rules.

(engine rumbles)

(man hums rhythmically)

[Man] I got some weed
if you sing another.

[Man] (chuckles) Down low.

(train blares)

Fuck.

Woman on deck.

[Men] Hi, Pearl.

[Pearl] Hi, boys.

[Man] Tuna fish and a
ripple of wine, honey.

Exnay on the tuna, but what's
the vintage on the ripple?

Uh, this morning? (laughs)

Who are you?

That's The Pearl, man.

Exactly, who are you?

[Man] Guardian
angel's what she is.

How'd you know about
those fucking men

in that Mexican bus
back there, huh?

Did I help you or not?

Okay, you helped me.

Then you owe me.

Excuse me, fellas.

I owe you nothing,
I owe you what?

Easy, easy.

Pearl is our friend.

It's all right, guys.

Bob's an old friend.

Let's keep the party polite.

You want I should
scalp him, Pearl?

[Bob] No, no, no, no.

Reinforcing ugly stereotypes

isn't quite necessary
tonight, Mr. Crow,

but thank you just the same.

Just let me know, eh?

Scalping, you say?

I counted coup
on a hundred fools.

He's still scalping 'em.

It's in the hat.

Urban buff and soldierin'
is what we call it.

Oh.

She brings us fancy
yuppie food every week, man.

We got to protect her, brother.

Oh, you damn right.

How'd she know my name?

Go get her, man!

[Bob] Hey, Pearl!

That Pearl's a
shape-shifter man. (laughs)

You got that right, she is.

She's gonna
bring me a yoga mat

so I can do Bikram down here.

- Shit.
- Oh, aristocrat.

(gentle instrumental music)

(suspenseful electronic music)

(man speaks in foreign language)

(audience speaks in
foreign language)

Well most of you
probably already know

why we're here
tonight, but welcome,

for those of you who don't know,

welcome to the Just Cause
Causa Justa meeting.

Why are we here?

Because we are
justified in our cause.

They keep evicting us from
our places where we live,

the elders, the young people,

and now even these businesses.

Fact I, just walkin' up here,

somebody handed me the flyer
for the Encantada Gallery.

They're even being
displaced themselves.

So that's why we're
here tonight, folks,

'cause we wanna hear from you.

We wanna take your
voices and your stories

straight to the people who
really need to hear 'em,

down at City Hall.

So who has a problem?
(speaks in foreign language)

Earnestine?

Yes, well, I came here
today looking for help

because, um, everybody in
our building got notices

that we have to move.

We have nine apartments, and
we're all being displaced,

and one family only
has found a place.

I, myself have an issue.

I have my 90 year
old mother with me,

and I have not been
able to find a place.

I'm down to 15 days.

I filed an elder abuse report

because I think
it is elder abuse.

My mother has lived here all
her life, in The Mission.

She does not wanna
leave The Mission.

I don't wanna leave The Mission.

I raised my children here,
why is this happening to us?

How are they getting
away with this?

We cannot find an
affordable place.

I need help with this.

I was just hoping that today,

maybe somebody could go
through my resources with me

and see if there's
anything I've missed

because I don't know what to do.

Where do I turn?

When we get to the end of
this road, where do we turn?

(ominous electronic tones)

You can do that?

Totally within the
color of the law.

You're a badass.

I know, right?

[Dispatcher] Available units,

see deputies at 600
block of Valpo Avenue.

Africans American female
refusing to vacate premises.

[Man] God damn it, another
tenant just got scammed.

[Dispatcher] Has chained
herself to the front gate.

What?

[Pearl] Welcome.

Welcome?

Outstanding work, Pearl.

Found him faster
than I thought.

Found me?

Who are you people?

Who are we?

You hungry, man?

You want a sandwich?

Or an $11 mission burrito
from Fisherman's Wharf?

Who's the smart-ass white boy?

The white boy is
a housing attorney

specializing in renters' rights
for Section Eight tenants

and class action lawsuits
against developers

who prey upon and
discriminate against the poor.

That's who the white boy is.

He's pretty good.

Pretty sick court record, too.

Don't fuck with
with the white boy.

I'll try not to.

What do yo guys do here?

Fuck shit up.

We hack systems, track people.

You're hackers.

You're tracking me?

Yes.

Why me, why?

Why you, shit.

You're Bob Morales, mano.

We'll work with you
to nail the bastards.

To torched hotels to make room

for million-dollar lofts.

The real enemy.

You guys are
cute, but I'm uh...

Underground?

Yes, and I've been
down this road before.

[Man] Which road is that, sir?

The road of developers, the
road of millions of dollars.

The road of smoke in
mirrors and bureaucracies

and where nothing sticks.

Shit don't stick, man.

Where people get torched
in their SRO rooms.

They burn alive.

Seven people dead.

I couldn't prove
a fuckin' thing.

Maybe you couldn't,
but we could try.

Bob, why don't you
allow us to wire you

with a microcamera
or a microphone

and we'll post your raw
opinion of your mission.

(Bob laughs)

Dispatches from
the underground.

Wire me?

I don't do wires, ever.

Not a wire, wire.

Just a way for us to
capture your narrative.

My narrative.

Oh, are you guys fuckin' crazy?

Are you out of your mind?

I still don't know
how you guys know me

or who the hell I am.

[Hacker] You're
like my hero, Morales.

But I'm hella
underground now, son.

I'm not trying to be seen
by you, by you, or by you.

But we can still see you.

I see Chicano people.

[Bob] This place is
beyond fucking weird.

[Hacker] You wanna know
what's even weirder, Bob?

Christopher.

What's even weirder

is that you were once
a pure badass once.

You got close to the fire,
and you allowed the man

to push you underground
where you could sleep

under a railroad track.

That's enough, Christopher.

No, no.

Let him go.

Keep going, white boy.

Developers don't sleep.

Money doesn't sleep.

Evictions do not
sleep, motherfucker.

Here The Mission gave you...

Dog paths.

Cultural tourism.

Mills Act, anybody?

We were once a
city of poets, man.

Underground underworld
is real cool, Roberto,

but at this point,
it's a luxury,

and the hipsters, they don't
even know you were underground

because they barely
even acknowledged

your fucking existence.

That's cold.

Bob Morales is not in
the other barrio just yet.

There's work to do.

(sirens blare)

[Dispatcher] Looking for
a mission in Bernal Heights.

(dispatcher speaks
in foreign language)

(sirens blare)

[Bob] Fuck, stop.

No, it never stops, Bob.

(horns blare)

- Not in Williamsburg.
- Brooklyn.

Not in Silver
Lake or Echo Park.

(horns blare)

- Chinatown.
- Tampoco.

And it won't stop while
you heal or seek closure

for Sophia.

Or the seven souls in
a Mission hotel fire.

Urban deportation.

Swift moving current, ese.

Scarcely slowing even
for the suns and daughters

of technology to
disembark their buses.

White buses.

The nightly flotilla of
Google, Facebook, Yahoo salmon

swimming up Valencia.

The Nina, the Pinta,
the Santa Maria.

Kids wanna live in
edgy, cool, hip hoods

without the actual hassle
of homeless people,

the working poor,
the undocumented,

or god forbid, a
real fag with HIV.

That's good.

That's pretty good.

For a white boy.

All right.

I'm gonna hit the head.

(ominous music)

Okay, that's good.

We got him.

You think?

I don't know.

(lighter clicks)

(gentle instrumental music)

(midtempo jazz music)

Everyone has a divine
right to Saturday night.

Divine, divine. (speaks
in foreign language)

The queen of 16th street.
(speaks in foreign language)

A true gentlemen never
guesses a woman's age,

where a woman's from.

Are you a true gentleman?

Divina was walking down
the street to Esta Noche,

looking for her divine
right to a Saturday night

but she never made it.

Divina has a whole group of
fierce blessings of unicorn

that are watching,
looking out for her.

Somewhere in the beyond.

Divina (speaks in
foreign language).

This is for you, Jessica.

You rest in peace.

(crowd applauds)

It is my absolute honor
to introduce to you

the bard of The Mission
the keeper of the fire,

Alejandro Murguia,
ladies and gentlemen.

(crowd cheers)

(speaks in foreign language)
Thank you all very much

for showing up tonight.

I'm Alejandro Murguia,
and I'm from The Mission,

and I'm on a mission
like you're on a mission,

and we are on a mission,

and the mission is
to be in the mission.

(speaks in foreign language)

Wherever I stand, here,
there, everywhere,

I'm in The Mission, and
The Mission's in me,

like The Mission's in you
because The Mission is

to be in the Mission,
(speaks in foreign language)?

Spectators, operators, speculators,
all roam in The Mission,

but there's some people in
this scene from La Mission.

(speaks in foreign
language) Watch your watch

when you're in The Mission.

Check the descarga
beat on Mission Street

because the heat is
on The Mission, yeah.

That's right, so the new mission

must be to free the
mission, oh yeah.

Hear me straight, cats and
kitties, that's the vision,

and what a vision,
to free The Mission.

That's the mission,
free The Mission, ho.

(audience applauds)
Thank you all.

Thank you all very much.
(speaks in foreign language)

(audience cheers)

And so I was thinking that
maybe we could get some...

(woman speaks in
foreign language)

(Alejandro laughs)

(suspenseful music)

Sir!

This belongs to you.

Uh, I'll catch you
in a second, okay?

- You sure?
- Yes.

No, this is what you've
been looking for.

(Alejandro speaks
in foreign language)

We used to be a city of poets.

We still are.

Be cool.

I used to be you.

(midtempo jazz music)

I used to be you.

Happy summer solstice, eh?

Thank you, Mr. Crow.

(midtempo rhythmic music)

♪ Local hipsters ♪

(artist raps in
foreign language)

[Man] The first power
of folks we encounter

in Planet Mission
is a border conflict

between the so-called
locals and the art hipsters.

Two gross generalizations cause
(speaks in foreign language)

the locals aren't that local

and the hipsters
aren't that hip.

The main complaint of the locals

is that the hipsters don't
really live in The Mission,

ontologically speaking.

That they are here temporarily

only to have a vicarious
experience of bohemian otherness.

They are perceived
as obnoxious tourists

scratching the hood

'cause it's closer than San
Miguel Allende or Oaxaca,

cheaper than Santa
Fe or Venice Beach,

and certainly less
dangerous than Tijuana.

And after a few
Grey Goose martinis,

the hipsters also complain.

They complain about
the homeboys, machismo,

and their primitive tattoos.

About the homegirls'
rowdiness and long black nails

and moan that everything
closes so early

in the mecca of hipsterism.

It's a complicated border war.

On the surface, it's a war
between boom boxes and iPods,

between tequila and
more expensive tequila.

But deep inside, it's
a much nastier war

between those who remember
and those who forget.

Those who are here to stay

and those who are
just passing through.

(artist raps in
foreign language)

Last night, one
of my local bars,

this old Chicano drunk
whispered into my ear

as if consoling
himself, in two years,

all these wanna-be eccentrics
will all return to Iowa

or Wisconsin, wherever
the fuck they came from.

It's a complicated border war.

It's a good read.

I was riveted.

I miss a good book.

- (harmonica hums)
- Oh-ho.

Why you come down here, man?

Why do you come around here?

He comes here to remember.

- Remember what?
- He remembers.

We remember, too.

[Man] You were
here that night.

What night?

Come on, brother.

[Bob] What are you
talkin' about, what night?

I remember you.

The night your buddies
started a bad fire

just right over there.

The night Hobo Harry died.

Burned to death right there.

They torched Hobo Harry.

Guys, I had, I.

Fellas, I had nothing
to do with that.

But you tried to
stop it, as I remember.

Sons of bitches
sprayed Hobo Harry

with that damn lighter fluid
all over his mattress, too.

He was beggin' 'em to stop.

Mean little fuckers.

(dramatic electronic tones)

He was screamin'
to make 'em stop.

(dramatic electronic tones)

I was, I tried.

Flames been followin' me
my whole fuckin' life.

Maybe it's time
to stop running.

Running from the flame.

Not all fire's bad.

Not all brimstone
is bad, you know?

Turn and face the fire, Bob.

Could be you're
holdin' the flamethrower

in your hand right now.

We all of us have
matches. (laughs)

Fire's chased us all.

Oh, tobacco for the fire.

Gartland Hotel, 1976.

'75.

- '75.
- Ah.

And it was the Gartland
Apartments, yeah.

I lived there, I know.

Had myself a real
nice room there.

Hot plate in the corner,
black and white TV,

little Frigidaire.
(mimics beer top hissing)

(group laughs)

Aristocrat.

Oh, touche, my brother Crow.

Things was flush for you.

'Till the Gartland fire.

12 souls up and perished.

We're homeless, but
we're not stupid.

A little advice, go on and
get the fuck up outta here.

Yes.

Suit up, Bob.

Get your ass back out there.

In the game.

You're not built so
well for down here.

No, sir.

For I too have walked

in the shadow of the
valley of the silicon.

This ain't no
weather underground.

This ain't no
social media, either.

Revolt of the
cockroach people.

Your poet is giving
you a shot at redemption.

Fuckin-a right, eh?

Right.

Mission still
needs you, Morales.

So bang your drum slowly.

Let it haunt the Colonial ghosts

in the banks of
The Mission Creek.

[Bob] I like that.

Besides, you ain't ready
for the big other barrio yet.

You're a fuckin'
housing authority.

Housing investigator
man, actually.

Well go on and
do your thing, boo.

Praise the lord and
pass the ripple.

(train clatters)

(midtempo piano music)

Wire me up, white boy.

(Christopher speaks
in foreign language)

(hacker speaks in
foreign language)

Take your shirt off.

Actually, I have
something better.

What's better than a half-naked
Latino man with a wire?

[Bob] This. (chuckles)

Whoa.

Go make a Wiki page

or whatever it is
the fuck you guys do.

I always wondered what
a WikiLeak looked like.

[Bob] That's it
right there, man.

Go Wiki, go get a hashtag.

- Good.
- Yeah, man.

Go, Wiki baby.

[Pearl] No, no,
no, no, no Wiki.

No?

No, we take this
to The Observer.

Nobody reads newspapers
anymore, Pearl.

I do.

Old schooling.

She's the shock collar, eh?

This might be the bang-bang
play we've been waiting for.

Well, if something's gonna
happen, let it happen now.

This is good, real good.

Read this, Sean, read that.

Now check this out.
(speaks in foreign language)

Handwritten, even.

Following the tragic
death of my niece, Sophia,

my health has
deteriorated rapidly.

God is punishing me, I believe,

and to receive his forgiveness,

I must release our
no-show contracts

and every ghost transaction
regarding the hotel fires.

May God forgive.

All hail the queen and
the deathbed confession.

- Yeah.
- Get your smoking gun

and smoking ammunition.

How did you get this?

From El Poeta himself.

Where did he get it?

(chuckles) From Sophia's aunt.

They were lovers, call
it the crazy '80s.

[Christopher] Is there a...

Turn it over.

[Christopher] A love
letter to confirm this?

[Bob] Read, read.

[Christopher] Says right here.

(speaks in foreign language)

So, Poeta was the
only one she trusted.

And El Poeta trusted Bob?

'Cause this vato
is super legit.

Fuck a plea baragin,
these are iron-clad docs.

They'll stand up to a jury.

Dates, ledgers, fires.

Huh?

We are holding more
fire for the fire.

Sean, go.

Shit, gone!

Be careful.

(woman sings in
foreign language)

[Bob] I started feeling
better about myself again,

and for the first time,

I was able to return to the
spot Sophia was gunned down.

I'm not gonna lie to
you, it was hard, man.

Real hard.

But I had to say goodbye
to her one last time.

Say thank you to
her, one last time.

(speaks in foreign language)

My only consolation was that
Callahan was all over the news.

Hew as on the run
like a scared rat

fleeing a sinking ship, and
he was about to be nailed.

(midtempo jazz music)

This mural right here started
out as sort of a symbol.

A reminder so we
wouldn't forget,

but it ended up helping
inspire an entire movement.

And that movement
took over the barrio.

[Man] Who's city?

[Crowd] Our city!

[Man] Who's city?

[Crowd] Our city!

[Man] Who's city?

[Crowd] Our city!

Viva La Mission!
(crowd cheers)

[Group] Our
mission no eviction!

(group chants in
foreign language)

Our mission no eviction!

(group chants in
foreign language)

Our mission now eviction!

(group chants in
foreign language)

Our mission no eviction!

(group chants in
foreign language)

Our mission no eviction!

(group chants in
foreign language)

I gotta be real
honest with you.

It felt so good to finally
land one of the big fish.

Would it bring back
all the souls we lost?

No.

But Callahan, he won't be
killing for money anymore.

(laughs) Man, sweet.

Nicole, be sure to
get Discolandia, okay?

How's this?

Perfect.

Hola.

[Woman] Hola.

[Bob] There are a thousand
stories in the city.

But only seven souls who
perished in a hotel fire

not so long ago, I
will not forget them.

Hey, mind if I take a photo
and put it on Instagram?

Sure.

[Bob] Nor will I forget
Sophia and Jessica,

my two angels.

Thanks.

[Bob] This to you, I swear.

I only hope they made it
safely to the other side.

To the other barrio.

(midtempo jazz music)

Subtitles by explosiveskull

(men sing in foreign language)

(midtempo jazz music)

(man sings in foreign language)