All language subtitles for Diarra from Detroit - Season 1 1 - Watch here without ADS and downloads

Detroit is still haunted

by the 1995 disappearance
of six-year-old Deonte Brooks.

The first grader vanished
from the Northview Mall

without a trace.

No suspects, no leads.
Simply gone.

Deonte is a good
boy and we love him so much.

I know my baby
is still out there.

If you have any information
about where he is,

please call the police.

And whoever has him,
please bring him back home.

We miss him.

* *

Confession.

I never should have gone
looking for that boy.

Shit. Life is full
of unsolved mysteries.

And as I once heard this guy
in the post office say,

"Minding your own business
is a full time motherfucking job

and everybody needs
to stay employed."

But I had to get
to the bottom of this one,

even if it killed me.

* *

And it just might.

* *

So when this shit first started,
I was not in my right mind.

* *

I was heartbroken.

And the only mystery
I was trying to solve was

how the hell did I get here?

* *

My anxiety
had me micro-sleeping.

Ten minutes here,
15 there.

I hadn't had
my eight hours in months.

It was torture.

And my insomnia must have
turned me into a white woman

from a horror movie,

'cause I was up
in the middle of the night,

without a pistol,
investigating a noise.

* *

Don't even try it.

Face the wall and put
your bitch-ass hands up.

I had just moved
back to Detroit,

and I was
already getting robbed.

Please, don't hurt me.

But if you are gonna kill me,
can I please take off

my headscarf so I won't
be looking like Harriet Tubman

in the crime scene photos?

I'm only gonna tell you once.
Shut the fuck up.

Wow.

Danger?
Danger Johnson?

Diarra? Oh, shit.

You back on the block.
What up, though?

Are you fucking
kidding me right now...?

They say Detroit is
nothing but a small town

masquerading as a big city.

Everybody knows everybody,
for better or worse.

Hey, look, my bad. I know
this disrespectful as hell.

But, hey, I ain't know your mama
still own this house. She here?

She's in Florida
with her boyfriend

- and she's a snowbird.
- Goddamn. All right.

Shit. You ain't gotta be mad.
Bone, get in here.

This is my stepson, Bone.
Diarra.

Sorry, ma'am. I thought you
was one of them gentrifiers.

Bone, you too impatient
when you casing.

Let this be a lesson.
Tell him, D.

- I'm not telling him shit.
- Tell him where you from.

And it gets better. So I said,
"What are you talking about?"

And he says, "You know
what I'm talking about."

And I said, "I have no
idea what you're talking about."

And then this nigga
asked me what I thought

about an open marriage.

Hell, no.

So I said, how do you feel
about a closed casket?

And that was it.
I moved out.

I haven't spoken to him
in three months.

Um...

You ever had two
burglars stare at you with pity?

I gotta tell you,
it's a bad feeling.

You going through a lot, D.
You should talk to my therapist.

I'm sorry.
Why would I go to a therapist

who hasn't convinced you
to stop robbing houses?

She wanna get paid. Don't she?

She sounds unlicensed.

Pride is for lions, Dee.

You gonna need something
to help you through the divorce.

I'm just saying.

And that was
the first time

anyone had actually said it.

The D word.

* *

Looking good, Norm.

* *

Of course you get a divorce, D.

Look, I've been tap dancing
around it so much, I feel

like the Nicholas Brothers
in "Stormy Weather."

Tea, that is honestly the gayest
shit you have ever said.

I limit myself
to three gay things a week.

Well, boo, that was all three,
and it was greatly appreciated.

- Thank you.
- Look,

this nigga ain't fighting
for you.

Snitches are vicious.
They enrich us.

I think that Swa
is trying to figure out

how to fight for me.

You know, denial is more than
that kid on the basketball team

with the lazy eye.

First of all, that boy's name
is Tee-nial or was it Tray'nial?

- Was it T--?
- Was it T'nial?

T'na, t'ne...

No. That's Train...
Oh, shit.

I can't keep up with these
fucked up ass names anymore.

Your name autocorrects
to "Diarrhea."

Autocorrect is racist.

I typed in,
"Fuck the white man,"

it autocorrects
to "Duck, nigga."

My name is African
and it's beautiful.

And...

If you see something,
say something.

- Yo, this nigga corny.
- Young man.

I know this is BS,
but if you shut up,

we can get out of here faster.

- Go.
-Marihuana.

What I'm doing is I'm giving Swa
the time and space to miss me.

Uh, hell, no.
How much time this nigga need?

Look, it only takes a day

to miss the person
that's giving you head.

That means somebody else
is giving him head.

It's time to move on, bruh.

And...

There's no need
for that weed.

* Loving you *

* Too long *

* *

* To stop now *

No, thank you.

Oh, a wildebeest?
No, thank you.

Old man River.
No, thank you.

He's kind of cute.
Oh, God.

That's my cousin Jerome.

Ugh, oh.

- So what do you do?
-Oh.

Let me tell you something.
This lovely lady here happens

to be a teacher at one
of the top schools in the city.

See, I earn the money,
she earns the good karma.

You two are very impressive.

No, no. She is very impressive.

Cheers to that.

* To stop now *

- Hey, Ms. Brick.
- Hi, Wandreeka.

Hey! Everybody, back up!

- What are they fighting about?
- Some ho.

Hey!
For my money, that was

dangerously close
to fighting for love.

What did I tell you
about fighting?

- He deserved it.
- You stop.

Oh!

Hell, look at this goofy-ass--

Oh!

- You're doing too much.
- I was protecting a student.

You want to know what
the other teachers call you,

- Brickland, behind your back?
- Yeah.

- Devoted.
- Captain Extra.

I'm sorry, so no one's
calling me devoted?

"Look out, she's coming.
It's not a bird or a plane.

- It's Captain Extra."
- I'm Extra?

You're up in here doing voices.

We have three rules, Captain.

Rule number one,
don't touch the kids.

Rule number two,
don't touch the kids.

Guess what rule number three is.

Um... If you see something,
say something.

Don't touch the fucking kids!

You see a fight, you blow
the whistle for security.

Security doesn't come, you pray.

And not out loud, because
that's also against the rules.

Next time, it's a writeup.

So that's it?
We're not gonna try to get

to the bottom of that fight?

There's no bottom to get to.
This school is the bottom.

Do your job.
Don't do what's not your job.

Thank you so much.
It's been a pleasure.

* Nice, nice, nice, slut *

* It's on my shield *

* You don't wanna fuck with me,
girl, you ain't... *

I like tapping
into white male anger

when I'm having a bad day.

They say Black women are angry.

Shit, white men do anger
and camping better than anyone.

Money, power, respect.

Must be infuriating,
'cause they stay hot.

- Oh, my God!
- Roll down the window.

- Come on.
- God. What?

Can you turn down that music
with that trifling language?

Crazy Moni?
Are you serious?

You taught me how to cuss,
third grade.

You a damn liar.
What I look like?

You look like you taught me
how to say, "Fuck you, asshole.

I ain't steal shit,"
after you convince me

to steal a bunch of shit.

Get your ass out the car.
Get out the car.

If you knock on my window
one more time...

Easy.

Hi, sweetie.

Yo mama was
a very bad influence.

Well, I guess we remember
a lot of shit differently.

I guess we do.

Well, I remember you having
some big house

in Grosse Pointe
and a fine ass man with money.

Oh, wait, no, that was you
sneaking in and out the house

all winter, but now Danger
telling everybody

that you had to move back
into your mama house.

And you're keeping it
dirty as shit.

Remember that!
Come on...

I have a lot of new
opportunities on the horizon.

- Ah, shut the fuck up!
- You shut the fuck up, Moni.

And, well, you don't cuss,
though, right?

You didn't teach me how to cuss?

Yo, get your ass in the house.

You did teach me
how to cuss, Moni.

Come on.

Shit!

Can't even get in.

Hey, mind
your fucking business.

* *

My house is not
that fucking dirty!

* Fuck you with a smile *

* You already know
angry ain't my style *

* I'd rather just say,
I'd rather just say *

* Fuck you with a smile *

Hey, somebody bitch
at the door.

- Move.
- Hey.

Don't, "Hey" me, Leslie Watson.

You know,
you talk a lot of shit

for somebody
who pissed themselves

in my class every day.

Ms. Brickland?

How you recognize me
with all this grown man swag?

I never forget a face.

You.

You broke into my house,

and you scared
the shit out of me.

And did I trip?
Did I trip?

Did I trip?
No, no, not at all.

I was very calm
and Christian and forgiving.

I gave yo ass cake, okay?

But I will not stand idly by
while you talk shit

about me to my childhood
fucking frenemies.

I'm serious.

You keep my name
out your fucking mouth!

* *

* *

Somebody save the fucking fish!

It was in that moment that
I remembered I'm a fighter.

I don't have to take shit
lying down.

Not even divorce.

You lucky I'm at therapy, D.

I'm gonna give you
this one,

but don't let the grapevine
have you out here fucked up.

* *

I'm probably not
the first person to rationalize

that finding a Tinder Roni might
actually save their marriage...

* *

But the setup was perfect.

He wanted to meet at Leesie's,
one of those new Detroit spots

where Swa brought his clients,
partners, friends.

I just needed one person
to see me out.

Let the grapevine work.

Remind Swa that it was time
to fight for me.

* *

But I didn't count on him
taking my breath away.

* *

I'm fucked.

Wow. You're really handsome.

You know, I half expected
your picture to be

from 25 years ago,
or, like, jacked from the wall

of a barber shop or something.

Well, do you take pride in 360s?

Oh, reverse-Googled
the image to make sure.

So, when was your last HIV test?

- Wow. When was yours?
- How many kids you got?

- Zero. You?
- What's your sign?

Sun, moon, rising?

- We can slow down on that talk.
- What? What?

You all right?
You good?

Yeah. Yeah, I just, um...

I just wanna know
who I'm dealing with.

Mm. I thought you said
you were looking to chill

and have a good conversation.

Uh-huh.
Actually, I said scintillating.

So scintillate.

'Cause you seem
like you're trying

to comb through my tax returns.

Did you bring them?

- 'Cause--
- No, I did not.

'Cause we could arrange that.

I see. You are one
of those weird chicks

who likes to go over
every ugly detail

that led to this exact moment,
aren't you?

You like control.

You think having
all the answers will save you

from the inevitable pain
of the human experience.

I've been there.

* *

Oh, you're funny.
That's your thing.

- Okay.
- Well, all right, fine. Fine.

I am an open book.
Last relationship, go.

Mm.

I have an idea.

Hmm.

Let's pretend
that this is a third date,

so we've just gotten
all that bullshit

getting-to-know-you conversation
out of the way.

So you already
know my rising sign?

Yeah, I know it.
It's a good one.

A really good one.

And I might even know you
biblically at this point.

Yeah, maybe.

And I already like it.

Oh, you definitely like it.

You seem like you're discerning.

What made you swipe
on my picture?

Your eyes.

They seemed kind of familiar,

like maybe I'd seen you
somewhere before.

Well, you have.

Our first two meets.

Right. Yes.

- You wanna have some fun?
- Yes.

I should have asked
more questions.

How was that?

Good.

* *

Just what I needed.

I felt like myself
for the first time in months.

The next morning, I changed
his name in my phone to Ambien.

* I don't really know why *

Okay, usually a man putting me
to sleep is a bad thing,

but Aja, ooh, I am deeply
in like with this dude.

- Oh, God, Jesus wept.
- So did I.

When I came I sounded
like Minnie Riperton.

- I was like...
- Shh!

- She's under the dryer.
- Girl.

So good to see you again,
Ms. Taylor.

See, bitch,
that is why I'm celibate.

Hmm.

Well, I'm mostly
fucking celibate.

You lose too much power
going Minnie Riperton

after one date.

It was five dates, okay?

We did dinner, drinks,
escape room,

which was new for me.

What, does he have stock
in Groupon?

Come on, he likes me.

All these negroes know
how to give a good first date.

It's the relationship part
that causes mass confusion.

Well, me and Ambien are seeing
each other again tonight.

Dinner and a movie. His idea.

He sounds like an axe murderer.

- He does live on the East Side.
- That's it--

He said he lives across
the street from that wing spot

that has the fat guy dancing
on the commercial.

Mo-Fo's?
I love that commercial.

Uh-uh, girl, no.

Anyways, this guy is perfect,
I think.

- Mark my words, murderer.
- I don't think so.

- Okay, girl.
- I mean, granted

I don't have
the best sociopath radar

- since I married your cousin.
- Uh-uh.

- What?
- Don't do that.

Have you seen him,
by the way?

He was at Rashad's
birthday thing.

But everybody knows
that I'm Team Diarra,

so I don't even get much tea.

Well, fuck him.
I am focusing on Ambien anyway.

D, friend, maybe
you should focus on you.

Maybe you should focus
on fitting me in for a wax

so I can be spic and span
for my date tonight.

Uh-uh. Oh, no,
I'm not gonna get you

all spiffy for this new one.

- Come on, please.
- No.

* I know it's 3:00
in the morning *

* *

* *

* *

* Tonight I'm feeling
crazy, baby *

* Ain't no making love, baby *

The mailbox is full and cannot

accept any messages
at this time. Goodbye.

Should I call the police?

To tell them you've been
ghosted? Come on, Black woman.

I did not get ghosted.

This is textbook ghosting,
Ms. Brick.

It's been how many days
since you heard from him?

I don't know.
Three, four.

- Shit, it's been five days.
- Hmm.

Maybe he ain't texting you back.

- He in the wind.
- Uh-uh.

No, no, no.
Y'all were not there.

Y'all did not feel this energy
that was passing between us.

It sounded like
he didn't either. Oh.

- Lesson plans by 5:00.
- Yes.

You know,

my uncle once disappeared
for six months.

He came back, married
to a stripper on disability.

My granny says she was ladylike,
but just ugly as sin.

Wandreeka, baby, you want me
to finish braiding your hair

or you trying to get me
to jump off

the Ambassador Bridge?

Sorry you got ghosted.

If it makes you feel
any better...

here's a coupon
to Trina's Nails and Waxing.

Somebody just stuffed it
in my locker.

Are you trying to say
I got ghosted and I'm busted?

Not like that.
I didn't mean it like that.

- I did not get ghosted.
- So what did you get?

Turn around.
Keep your head... child.

Wow.

The mailbox is full and cannot

accept any messages
at this time. Goodbye.

I felt crazier
than I did before I met him.

He had teased me
with a full eight hours

of sleep, and I was addicted
after one hit.

And I didn't even know
his last name.

* *

He said he lives across
the street from that wing spot

that has a fat guy dancing
on the commercial.

Mo-Fo's?
I love that commercial.

* Fuck the limelight *

* Had a kid, though *

* Got to get my mind right *

I don't know how
I could have read it so wrong.

It is driving me fucking crazy.

I may be gay,
but I'm still a nigger.

And the rumors are true.
We ain't shit.

It's really
not that complicated.

Hey, you know what?
This is beneath us.

There should be no reason
we should be staking out

some vanishing negro
on the East Side.

Yeah, you gotta stop talking
shit about the East Side.

All my cousins live
on the East Side.

Where do you think he could be?

Not in here.

Maybe something happened to him

and that's why
he hasn't called me.

Girl, you sound like
a crazy white woman.

- I'm a concerned citizen.
- Yeah, that's some shit

- a crazy white woman would say.
- Don't insult me.

If anything,
I am a crazy Black woman

and that's just
fucking adorable.

So, never fuck anything
that ain't moving.

Sage advice.
Thank you.

Yes, Lord.

Okay, maybe not every crazy
Black woman is fucking adorable.

Hey, can you all remind me again
why people hate gentrification?

This place is trés gross.

Need to pray
for my food in here.

Take a breath.

Mm. And I just became
a regular.

I fuck with it too.

Okay, y'all, listen.

I have replayed
every single aspect

of this day over and over
again in my head.

Yeah. Then this one says

we're gonna have
a good time tonight.

Oh, so you're a fortune teller
and a palm reader.

That's...
It's the same class.

Wow, that is
a very specific skillset.

I like it.

And it was perfect.

There was no logical reason
for him to ghost me, except...

Is that guy following us?

Hey, we got a problem?

Okay, okay.
Get this straight.

- So you was outside...
- Uh-huh.

...at night?

- Yes.
- And you saw

- some random vagrant?
- We saw a vagrant, yes.

D, girl, it's the D, okay?

Look around you.
It's vagrant. Vagrant. Look.

Okay, so maybe this one
attacked him later.

Or maybe--maybe
they knew each other.

- It was weird.
- Was it a sexy vagrant?

- When are vagrants ever sexy?
- Oh, oh, you got The Weeknd.

- Lenny Kravitz.
- Zoe Kravitz.

- The stepdaddy?
- What is this...?

- Jason Momoa. My guy.
- Jason Mimosa.

- None of them are vagrants.
- They're unkempt.

Why are we saying vagrant
so much?

- Y'all--
- Stop.

- What?
- We've indulged this

long enough.
Tell her.

All right, listen, bruh,
you're still in Tree'nial.

You were supposed
to start dating as a way

to face your divorce,
but you're using

this whole Chris thing
to keep living in a fantasy.

So y'all saying I was ghosted?

-Yeah, bruh.
-Yeah...

Hell, yeah.

What are you all
talking about?

Ma'am, please mind
your business.

Okay, so what you're saying
is that, after five years,

I wasn't enough for Swa,
and after five minutes,

Ambien decided
I wasn't enough for him either?

- Fuck!
- Hey, stop cussing.

That's when it hit me.

What was the point of me
even being a fighter

when no one was asking me
to suit up?

I never felt so utterly alone.

I'm sorry!

Come on, baby,
go get your girl.

Do the right thing.

Hey.

No, please, God.

Hey.

Look, I know you're going
through a divorce, okay?

But divorce ain't the end
of the world.

You gotta be like J.Lo.

Every time she broke up
with a nigga, she got finer.

I think she divorce the niggas
so she could get finer.

So...

Thanks for the advice.

You know what?
I was trying to move on.

I met this cute guy. I just...
I opened my heart,

and he kicked me
in the meat curtains

when I was already down.

- I hate a nigga with no code.
- Oh, I know.

You blinded Elton Gregory
on one eye

for calling me nappy-headed.

He was nappy-headed.

I mean, we was all nappy-headed.

- He owed you an apology.
- And I got one.

He was like,
"Oh, I so sorry, Diarra.

I so sorry."

That's when I thought,
"Maybe all I needed to put

Ambien behind me was
a good old-fashioned apology."

* *

Oh, hell no.

How did I get roped into this
ghetto "Fatal Attraction" shit?

'Cause you owe me. 8th grade.

I took your place
in "Seven Minutes of Heaven"

with Melvin Rialto.

- Melvin wasn't that bad.
- Wasn't that bad?

The nigga cover me from
head to toe with his saliva.

I came up from that basement

looking like I just
got off a waterslide.

Oh.

Oh, my God.
It's getting decrepit.

No man live here.

- Yo, man lives here.
- No, he don't.

Okay, that's true.
Okay, hype me up.

- Hype me up.
- You got this.

Okay, if he doesn't apologize,
I'm just gonna key his car

and we can be out.

Felony, but okay.

- How do I look?
- Jefa, come on.

Okay! Shit.

Oh!

Come on.

* *

Hello, Chris?

Wait, wait.
Look, I got my switchblade,

my taser,
my brass knuckles.

Which one you want?

Moni, do you always
carry those things?

The brass knuckles
are just for the East Side.

Okay, John Wick, you stay here.

If something pops off,
I'll holler.

Shit.

Chris?

Hello?

* *

What in the entire fuck?

* *

Hello?

* *

Hello?

* *

Who are you?

Ah! Ah! Ah!

Who are you and where is Chris?

Diarra, is this the nigga?

This goulash ass nigga?
No!

- Then, what the fuck?
- I don't know, Moni!

Shit.

- Okay, switchblade.
- Fuck.

Hey, I am going
to help you, okay?

He shut his ass up.
Damn.

Shut the fuck up.

- Hey, hey, hey, hey.
- Hey, be cool.

* *

Where is the guy who lives here?

I'm just... I'm just trying
to make sure that he's okay.

Hey, can you answer?

* *

I'm glad it wasn't him.

That wasn't nearly enough dick
for all this shit.

* *

I cannot believe that you had
a switchblade,

a taser and brass knuckles
and you still let him get away.

First of all, I don't know
what kind of weird sex shit

y'll into, but I'm not trying
to be a part of it.

I got a husband, two kids,
and bills to pay.

- The fuck I look like?
- Good night, Monique.

Diarra.

Diarra Brickland?

You've been served.

Oh.

* *

They were right.
I was in denial.

My marriage is over.

* *

The Ambien thing
was a way for me

to avoid having to process it.

* *

But the Berlin Wall
of my life had come down.

So it didn't really matter
why Ambien ghosted me

or what happened to him.

I'll just have
to accept the fact

that I'll never see him again.

And the only mystery I need
to be trying

to solve right now is...

How the hell
I'm gonna move on?

Bruh, you just need to...

throw yourself
into your work.

* *

But then, at 4:44,
clarity struck.

I was so busy
thinking about Ambien,

I had forgotten
about my part-time job

as Captain Extra.

- You like Wandreeka.
- No, I don't.

* *

Marlon probably clowned her
when her hair was a mess,

and you weren't happy.

Leave her alone.

I wasn't even at that fight.

Shut your lying ass up.

And you must be in love because
you fought so hard and so bad.

* *

Probably because
the only karate lessons

you ever had was watching
from outside the window

while waiting on your mom
to get her nails done.

* *

Which is how you had the coupon.

* *

Wandreeka's the finest specimen
in the building,

whether she got her hair
did or not.

There it was.

Somebody in this cold, hard city

still willing to fight for love.

* *

It was beautiful.

I'm only gonna say this once.
Stop fighting.

Until you've actually
had some karate lessons.

- You got me?
- Yes, ma'am.

Yeah, okay.
Don't call me ma'am. Go.

* *

She went back in, huh?

- Who told you?
- Wandreeka.

Your mama may not be perfect,
but she can flat twist

with the best of them.

- I'm sorry I missed it.
- It's okay.

You need anything,
you call me, day or night.

* *

* *

That's how I solved
the case of my black eye.

And that was gonna have
to be enough.

* *

A few days later,
fate intervened.

There wasn't a doubt
in my mind it was him.

Ambien.

I knew I'd seen
this motherfucker before.

I always thought
it was the mama.

She keep putting them posters
to throw folks off her scent.

- What?
- Deonte Brooks.

Damn shame.

Probably been dead
25, 30 years by now.

Then how did this guy
eat my pussy last Friday night?

The fuck y'all looking at?

Minding your own
fucking business

is a full time
motherfucking job,

and all of y'all need
to stay employed. Shit!

In retrospect,
I probably should have heeded

the philosopher behind me,

but I was sure I was one
of the only people in the world

who knew Deonte Brooks
had been back in Detroit,

that he was going
by the name of Chris

and that he was missing again.

* *

And the fact that his stroke
was the only known cure

for my insomnia
made him my business.

* *

* *

* *

- Mom!
- Shh. Daddy's working.