Run, cabrón, some shit's gone down, eh.
I know, are they chasing us?
You don't wanna scam the Cortezes.
- Fucker... - Watch out, watch out.
Watch out.
Three amigos, huh?
What are you chavalos doing out so late?
In the barrio, bad things happen when the sky turns black.
Hey!
Let's go steal some bironga off your old man and get fucked up?
- Let's go hang with them vatos! - No, I gotta go.
My mom's gonna whup my ass. Talk to you later, aye.
Jose! Where you been? Where you been?
Get the fuck inside.
Take it to the back, homie.
Fuck. Somebody just got shot up, eh?
Jose, how many fucking times have I told you to respect me?
I've told you to stop fucking with me...
Shit always rolls down the hill, homie.
Even in the hood.
La jura.
I got my own spotlight tonight, huh?
How does it feel to be the star of the show, Emilio?
Only my abuela calls me Emilio...
To you, it's Shadow.
You come back to break my other leg?
Two police officers were ambushed and shot tonight.
Both are in the ICU. You know anything about that?
I'm just a peace-loving law-abiding citizen, ese.
You get into my shit, ese, is that it?
- Fucking placas. - Tsk. Shut up.
Notice that both stop signs on the end of the block
have been sawed down.
You know how that happened?
El Chicano, the ghetto grim reaper,
leaves a mark as a warning to the evil that lives on that block.
Do you know any evil that lives here, Emilio?
Well, you guys have a good rest of the evening.
No drinking and driving, okay?
Enjoy the rest of your night.
Lock those wheels. It's downhill, bro.
Fuck that.
Fuck the jura.
- Fuck you! - Get the fuck out of here.
Fuck you.
Settle down.
And you, motherfucker.
Walk hard in my barrio?
I'll steal your motherfucking soul, punk!
He cuts their hearts like the Aztecs
and chops up criminals for blood sacrifice.
He can't be killed.
He's the boogie man.
He's a cucuy.
Where you at, Chicano?
Let me see your face, motherfucker.
You fucked with the wrong vato, ese!
You're gonna die for this.
Pedro!
Pedro, wait!
Diego, stop.
Diego, stop, man. Stop!
Hey!
Stop chasing that asshole. Hey!
Yo, that's just some crackhead, took off in the scrum.
- You with me? - Yeah.
Hey, we got Silent.
Come on.
Man, I've seen a lot of fucked-up shit.
I've never seen anything like this.
These guys, they hosed down the friggin' crime scene.
There's no blood. It's a war zone.
Jesus Christ. Where's Silent?
We got him in the back room.
How about the cap? He on his way?
Yeah, Gomez is rollin' up now.
Hey, you two, stay off the radio, okay?
Make sure they don't talk to Dispatch.
Fucking hot in here.
Good to go.
Look at that. Look at this motherfucker.
Double tap.
This motherfucker came across the desk last week, man.
Double tap. This is a big piece of work.
Whoever did this, you know, they've done this before.
This is a professional hit.
Talk to me.
Well, based on the fact that we got Silent back there
and I know half these fucking vatos.
These are all Shotgun's peeps.
Maybe most of the cliqua.
The upper-tier vatos at least, all double-tapped,
all less than a quarter of an inch between the wounds.
- Pros. - Major.
- Any drugs? - No, nothing yet.
Okay, here's what we got.
The FBI, they're gonna be breathing down our backs.
DEA, the ATF...
But I'll be fucked if I'm gonna let a red ball
like this go federal. Not in my backyard.
Murder cases this size, they're career makers, son.
Do you understand that?
How long can you stall them out?
Twenty-four hours, max. Then the dam bursts.
Where's Silent?
We're holding him in the back.
Get up his ass, okay? Get answers.
Do not let him utter the word "lawyer."
Yes, sir.
You're my best investigator, Diego. You clear this case, we're getting snapped
with the mayor on the steps of city hall.
- Fucking caviar, kid. - I got it.
Chatting up a storm?
Staying true to his street name.
- Not a peep. Martinez. - Morales.
I heard you're being a Chatty Cathy.
Relax, Silent.
We're not going anywhere.
You know if I didn't see all the bullet holes
in your homeboys out there, I'd swear fucking Freddy Krueger
had a go at you, homes.
Your cliqua got cut up by some serious cats, Silent.
Some killers.
So far, we haven't turned up an ounce of powder,
dope, meth, nada.
Thinking I see a meeting? Maybe a secret one.
What I don't see is Shotgun lying dead out there.
I'mma show you somethin'.
Then I want you to take your ass out there
and go check out the homeboys,
and then you're gonna understand.
Understand what?
Hey, man, you good?
Hold up. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.
Don't zip that up, don't zip that up.
What the fuck?
- What the hell's going on, man? - The fuck is that, Silent?
Quit fucking bullshitting me!
Why are you all inked up like that?
Detective!
Outside.
Boss, Silent has a tattoo on his forearm.
"Mito 9-9-86."
Those dead vatos have matching tattoos.
"Mito" means "myth." What's the date?
My brother's birthday,
which is also my birthday.
"Mito" was Pedro's nickname.
- Jesus Salas. You know Jesus? - I know Jesus.
He gave it to him when he was a kid.
Pedro was into Aztec and Mayan shit. All the legends.
So Jesus called him "Myth."
Pedro did a seven-year bid in Corcoran
for possession and trafficking.
- I don't need his rap sheet. - No, no, no.
He was born with the thug gene.
All that barrio shit, I wasn't.
I don't like family connections to major crimes, Diego.
We were barely brothers, boss. Okay?
I stopped knowing anything about his life a long time ago.
Well, if they're Shotgun's cliqua, then what are all those vatos doing inked up
with your brother's nickname and date of birth, like some cult?
I don't know.
But I have the feeling it's linked to something bigger.
It has to be.
Diego, if your brother is really connected to this,
indirectly, peripherally,
Martinez has got to pick up the slack and take over the case.
No. Come on, Cap!
We're barely two months into this partnership.
Plus, he's Chi-Town, man. Midwestern Mexican.
This is East Los.
He doesn't know these streets or these players like I do.
Let me fucking figure it out.
Por favor.
All right, take Silent to Whittier.
Spend a little quality time with that shithead
before the Feds storm the castle.
You need an escort?
I don't want the lights.
I wanna get him to Whittier on the DL.
Cuidate.
He's all yours.
Buddy, did you call me a Midwestern Mexican?
You heard that?
What? Illinois is in the Midwest.
Yeah, you know, it sounded kind of shitty, like I can't hang or something.
Bro, don't take things so personally.
Anyway, that was a private conversation that I don't feel I have to account for.
I just wanna know where I stand.
You're my partner. Okay?
I have your back, and I hope you have mine.
That goes without saying. Of course I got your fucking back.
I'm saying it anyway.
Glad we nipped that in the bud.
Hey, homie... Hablame...
What are those tattoos supposed to tell me?
Your brother.
He knew this was coming, man. He warned us.
That what was coming?
Revolution.
What the fuck are you talking about, man?
Come on, man, talk to me. This is it.
Was the cliqua meeting in secret?
Was Shotgun there?
Shotgun wasn't there.
So you were meeting without him.
Shotgun hit his own squad.
Hey.
We were never part of Shotgun's cliqua, all right, ese?
Silent, someone went in on you, hard.
Who and why?
I'mma tell you somethin'.
Your brother didn't commit suicide, he was murdered.
As a matter of fact, he was leading...
Fuck!
Fuck! What the fuck?
Shooter, where's the shooter? You see the shooter?
You see him?
Get... Get down, get down, man.
What the fuck is wrong with you? Diego, get down!
They weren't here for us.
- What? - They were here for him.
Fuck.
LAPD's finest...
LAPD's best and brightest.
Fucking city cops, the guys that can't even be entrusted
to transport the only witness to this crime
to their own goddamn precinct.
You may think this matters, Captain Gomez.
It doesn't, it's federal now.
Especially with a dozen dead bodies.
And the one witness to this shooting
shot out from under you while in your custody.
What the fuck?
I'd ask you to trim your tone, agent.
I don't like anyone yelling at me in my office that isn't me.
Captain, we know you're sandbagging us.
Why don't we just establish that right now?
Jurisdiction isn't just a five-dollar word, fellas.
It happens to be what I have, and what I'm exercising
here at the local level.
This is the federal level, so we are going to interview
all your first responders and every single cop
that had access to that crime scene.
Especially the two detectives who transported the victim.
Get this straight, gentlemen.
My division, my command, my call.
Now, if you want to get a court injunction
to supersede that authority, have at it.
But the City of Los Angeles pays my mortgage,
and that's who I work for.
All right, well, we're not leaving here until we get an opportunity
to interview those two fucking idiot detectives
that transported, what's his name, Silent.
Good, there's a wooden bench out there
with both your names on it.
So, thank you, and fuck you.
- Fuck you! - Nice. Motherfucker.
No, no, no. It's just a little blood.
You don't have to come down here.
- Chrissy, don't come down here. - Did you both get checked out?
- I gotta go. - We're fine, Captain.
You got fucking blood all over your clothes.
Now, what the high holy fuck happened with Silent?
He got sniped, by one hell of a shooter.
Or just straight mercenaries based on the precision of that hit.
Boss, Shotgun might have had his own squad killed.
Wait a minute. Did Silent confirm this?
He said, and I quote, "We were never Shotgun's cliqua."
Why don't we issue for Shotgun, get that fucker in here?
No, that fucking APB will get picked up by the Feds,
and it will become a fucking track meet to see who gets to him first.
They don't know about Shotgun, and we need to keep it that way
until we can lock him down ourselves.
Hey, do you wanna talk about what else Silent said
before he was shot?
What the fuck is this, therapy? What did he say?
Diego, what did he say?
Nothing. Shit talk.
That my brother didn't kill himself, that he was murdered.
And the only person that would believe that wholeheartedly
would be my mother.
This investigation is gonna have every swinging dick
between here and Ventura County trying to wax
their fucking resume with my murder scene.
The only leg up we have left is your brother.
Get into his world, Diego, and find out who's fucking with ours.
- I miss him every day, mijo. - Yeah, I know you do, Mom.
Mom, um,
what did you do with Pedro's belongings,
the stuff he left in his room?
I haven't touched his room since he passed.
Is there anything in there?
A box from prison.
Stuff from his cell. That's basically it.
Mom, I'm working a case that might be connected
to Pedro's death.
Bunch of guys were gunned down in a warehouse off Soto Street.
Could these be the same people that killed your brother?
Maybe.
And can you catch them?
It's a possibility.
Let's go see what's in there.
Where you from?
I could never bring myself to go through his things.
Is that bad?
Why would that be bad, Mom?
I don't know, mijo.
I feel like if I don't feel sad for your brother
and remind myself of that sadness, then...
His spirit might somehow slip away.
Is this it? All his stuff?
He didn't live here that long.
And he still had that,
what do they call it,
"cellblock mentality."
You mean, he hid things.
I mean, he lived very simply.
How did he spend his days, Mom?
You know, these are things that you would know
if you had put your pride aside
and reconnected with your brother.
Look, I don't want to reopen all this right now.
- Pedro and I were very different people. - You were brothers.
And that should have mattered to the both of you.
Did he have any mail coming to the house?
You should have...
You should have looked out for him, Diego.
You should have tried harder.
He looked up to you.
Mom, what did we call him?
"Shortcut."
That's what we called him,
and everyone thought it was funny
till at some point, it wasn't funny no more.
Didn't want to do the work.
That was Pedro. Did not want to do the work.
Didn't matter what I did, how I tried to help him out,
hook him up with jobs, with legit jobs.
He wanted to sling dope.
You defend a drug dealer, still.
You dishonor your brother.
No, you do.
And you dishonor me
and all the hard work that I put in, to not be dead before my 30th birthday.
Are you really going to find out who killed my son?
Your son?
Who are you speaking to, right now?
La jura?
The police?
You've never made me feel bad about being a cop, Susanna.
Don't start now.
Then don't make me feel bad about being a mother, Detective.
Pedro's mail is next to the phone in the kitchen.
- Hey. - Hey, man.
I think I'm onto something at Pedro's.
I found a photo of Shotgun, my brother
and this third cat whose face is scratched out.
"Know thy enemy" is written on the back.
If that ain't a world-class fucking clue, we ain't gonna get one.
Yeah, well, the Feds are good at reconstructing
these kinds of images overnight, but we're not.
You know, I got this buddy back in the Chi,
he works for Homeland.
I tell you what, take a couple of pictures on your phone, send them through.
- I'll see if he can help us out. - Cool. Sending now.
So, in 1846, the United States declared war on Mexico,
then President James Polk
sent Marines to secure the State of California,
which was still a Mexican territory.
U.S. Navy Commodore Robert F. Stockton arrived
on July 14th and declared California conquered.
But the early Angelenos, people like you,
and you and me, did not surrender so easily
and we revolted against these soldiers
eventually winning the Siege of Los Angeles.
Firme que no?
Okay, chavalitos. That's it for today.
Remember, next week we're gonna be talking about
the playwright Luis Valdez, the artist...
The journalist Ruben Salazar
and all my Chicano heroes, huh?
Órale, kids. You take care, huh?
You must have told me about the Siege of Los Angeles
at least 100 times, que no.
Some stories never get old, ese. They keep teaching us.
- So you caught a burner, huh? - You heard.
Yeah, I mean, I hear about everything.
So you heard that every last one of those vatos
was tattooed with the word "Mito"?
I can't talk to my mom about Pedro, Jesus.
She's too emotional.
But I know that, uh, you kept up with him,
and I need to find out exactly what the fuck
he was up to these last few years.
I could tell you this, and this you probably already know,
but your brother had a pull, Diego.
He drew people in.
He had the makings of a leader, of a protector.
Come on, Jesus, we both knew who Pedro was. He banged.
And he got bit by the bullshit and he went inside.
But that's not the man that came out of the pinta, homes.
That man was rebuilt.
Reborn.
Sorry.
- Yo, what's up? - I just found Shotgun.
A robbery homicide. CI dimed him out.
He's throwing a pachanga on Cesar Chavez.
Hang tight, I'm on my way.
I gotta roll. Catch you later?
C u íd a te, homes, huh?
So, how far back do you and Shotgun go?
Childhood.
We grew up two blocks from one another.
His father was a baller back in the day.
This vato loco shot-caller named Shadow.
Got murdered when we were kids.
Shotgun's eclipsed his old man in every way.
I call him "Malibu's Most Wanted."
He's got a big beach house out in Zuma and only rolls
through the barrio when he wants to show out.
There he is.
Look at this fucking crowd.
What kind of asshole throws a street party
less than 24 hours after wiping out his own cliqua?
The kind that doesn't want to appear guilty.
- Órale! - Ah! Que paso, vato!
Detective Diego Hernandez, huh?
La jura just came to the hood. Huh? Respect.
- I'm here every night, hustler. - He takes care of us.
Not paddle-boarding Point Dume, like you.
It's nice, you should try it, man. I'll show you around.
- Yeah, invite me down. - Yeah.
But I gotta ask you the obvious.
How is it you're out here rolling this hard
when all your homies are lying dead in the morgue downtown?
Ah, Detective, the LAPD has robbed you of your heritage.
This is how we celebrate the dead.
When I die, I want you and you
and all y'all motherfuckers to rage.
I'm sure you got nothing to worry about there.
It'll be a fucking block party when you go down, dawg.
Yeah, well, I mean, that's gonna be a minute, Detective.
Yeah, I'm sure it is.
You never did get that scar stitched up, did you?
I'm sure you told your homies here you caught a shiv at county,
but we both know the truth, don't we?
Your mom was like Indiana Jones once she got started
with that belt, homie. You remember that shit?
Bas, bas, bas.
Damn, man, she fucked you up.
How many fucking times have I told you to respect me?
Well, check this out, officers.
Tomorrow, we got a lowrider party coming through.
So many bitches, all right?
I know with your salary, you probably won't be able
to get a girl, but I got groupies.
Please tell me this fool Jose is not for real.
Who the fuck you calling Jose, cabrón?
Who the fuck is Jose?
You, asshole.
Where'd you find this coconut?
How about you take off that badge and that pistola
and we'll handle it out like real men?
Throw it down for real.
Or we can throw them deuces in the streets.
High noon, nigga, call it.
You challenging a cop to a gunfight?
This ain't your territory, homeboy.
I see you. I see my brother, Pedro.
Help me out with the third fool.
Don't know him.
Well, something tells me, I find out who this motherfucker is,
then all the pieces fall into place.
The Feds are going to come looking for you.
Those murders got a lot of dicks hard.
They're looking for someone to fuck.
Have fun.
That's what I thought.
Dress me up.
- What the fuck was that? - What the fuck...
What do you mean? What the fuck was that?
He tapped his goddamn waistband.
He challenged me to a gunfight, what the...
Bullshit. He went in on you and you didn't like it.
Fuck your pride and play it out.
He lets us process him and perp walk him
and do three hours of paperwork,
and the moment his ass hits a chair,
he says one word, "lawyer."
And he'll do it just to fuck with us and waste our time.
If we don't have him ice-cold for the crime of murder,
we don't have him at all.
It's my boy. It's my boy, hold on.
Mikey. Talk to me, dawg.
My motherfucker! No, no, no.
Send it through now. We got it.
Saul Campos, AKA "Jaws."
Rumored to be the illegitimate son of this asswipe.
Alejandro Truco, AKA "El Gallo."
The de facto head of the Verdugo Cartel out of Sinaloa, Mexico.
Jaws was serving a five-year bid up at Tehachapi,
and he's set to be released tomorrow.
Paroled out 10 months early for good behavior.
There's the reason for Shotgun's party.
It's a welcome home for Jaws.
Why haven't I heard of this fucking guy?
Unlike most clowns that claim to be El Gallo's son,
Saul here, he's kept his mouth shut. He's an anchor baby.
You know, Moms was some minor felon
that El Gallo banged on a field trip to LA.
Homegirl, she hung onto the kid,
moved back to Mexico a-a-and got paid.
There's rumors that she's the one really
running the show in Sinaloa.
Now, El Gallo, he's rare, in that he's a known nationalist,
big believer in the notion of Reconquista,
the reclamation of the former Mexican Empire
before the secession of 1848.
The fuck does that mean?
It means that he thinks that Cali
along with the entire southwestern portion of the US
should return to Mexican rule.
The way that Hitler wanted Europe back.
I think we have our bad guys.
Shotgun gave up the cliqua to the Verdugos.
The Mexicans are expanding up north and he wants a big seat at the table.
Jaws being released means they can start making moves.
The cliqua wasn't feeling this.
They didn't exactly want to hand over East Los to the cartel.
Especially not to someone like El Gallo.
Shotgun knew this, and cleaned house.
And took down his own cliqua.
How does all that sound when I say it out loud?
- It sounds about right. - Okay.
But what does any of this have to do with your brother?
"Remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially,
"are descended from immigrants and revolutionists.
"Franklin Delano Roosevelt."
"A revolution is not a bed of roses.
"A revolution is a struggle between the future and the past. Fidel Castro."
Hey.
Give me a kiss.
No, I just woke up, my breath is funky.
I don't care, I like funky.
What's wrong?
The case.
My brother.
He had all these books on revolution.
American, French, Russian.
I don't get it, my brother wasn't like this.
He wasn't into this shit.
Maybe he was, babe.
I mean, you admit that you stopped really knowing him.
You haven't seen him in so long, maybe...
Maybe he changed. Maybe prison changed him.
He was a thug.
Okay? He was a bad guy who dealt drugs and shot people.
He was your brother, Diego.
He was your brother.
And I'm sure there was a time that you loved him very much.
When you were boys, when you were little,
when you were chavalitos.
Where you from?
And you know if all of this is that clear-cut,
and he really is just a thug,
why is it still bothering you?
Listen to this.
"We are Mexican-American."
"American" is in all caps.
"No Crip or Blood ever banged for Nigeria or Ghana,
"or the continent of Africa. They banged for Compton.
"I bang for mi barrio. For East Los.
"Por vida, for I am Mexican-American." Again in all caps.
The dead vatos in that warehouse, they were inked with the same tattoo.
"Mito," which was Pedro's nickname and the numbers 9-9-8-6.
- Your birthday. - And his.
I didn't want you to get all weird about it.
No, you didn't wanna admit that this freaked you out.
Pedro is reaching out to you.
Vanessa, come on, you sound like Mom.
Okay? Don't get all voodoo Mexicana bruja on me.
- I don't like that shit. - Okay.
You don't you think it's just a little bit unusual
that your biggest case since becoming a detective
is somehow connected to your own brother?
I've always believed in that stuff, man.
Signs, intuitions, gut feelings,
just things that make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
You may not believe in that energy,
the energy that the dead carry for the living,
but it's real.
It's real.
Don't stay up too late, okay?
10 x 30?
What the fuck?
That's 10.
That ain't 30.
What the fuck?
What the hell?
Shit.
What the fuck is this?
Oh, my God.
Diego.
What does this mean to you?
Come in.
It was like this, a lair almost, like a ghetto Batcave.
I've never seen anything like it before.
He had a blacked-out Harley with riding leathers that were retailored
to slot ballistic plates, fucking bullet-proofing, Jesus.
I remember where I saw this.
That freak that killed Shadow when we were kids.
The man on the motorcycle.
Diego, wait!
Who was he?
El Chicano.
Holy shit. I remember this.
The cucuy.
That's what he was, Diego.
A ghoul. A ghost story.
He used to mark neighborhoods.
If you saw it, it meant somebody on your block was a target.
Someone was getting killed.
In the barrio, bad things happen when the sky turns black.
Who was he?
I've heard stories going back as far as the '40s.
After the Zoot Suit Riots.
This misterioso black-hooded motorcyclist
is spotted moving through the barrio.
These little urban legends,
stay alive through the '50s, and the '60s, the '70s.
Anytime shit got hot in the hood,
you'd hear those chopper pipes, homes,
and motherfuckers would put their pistolas away and call it a day.
The gangsters found God out of fear of the devil.
I found this in the unit. There's dozens of them.
Journal entries talking about revolution.
He considered the cartel an invading force,
that was coming to reclaim the city, the barrio.
And they had to be battled back and beaten
like the original colonists fought back the fucking British.
Listen to this, man.
"My brother Diego can fight this fight from the side that is right and good.
"I am neither right nor good.
"I will make up the difference in blood."
He was amassing these things, Jesus.
Gathering them up.
The mask, the motorcycle, the stencil.
I think he wanted to become this.
And never did.
- Yo. - Jaws just made parole.
- He's on his way to LA. - I'm on my way.
Gotta go.
Órale, carnal.
They're holding this shit down tonight.
Look at Happy Feet over there. Not a care in the world.
This fucking clown.
I just want to wipe that smug-ass smile off that motherfucker's face.
Maybe break both his arms when I slap him in cuffs.
I may have given it some thought.
Yo, you dig up anything new on Pedro?
You want to hear something I never thought I'd hear myself say?
What's that?
I'm no longer 100% certain my brother killed himself.
Really? Why?
Things he was doing before he died.
Those vatos, the tattoos.
They were loyal to my brother.
Or at least what they thought he stood for.
You know, did you ever
get a look at your brother's homicide sheet, morgue book?
His death was ruled a suicide.
I never even spoke to the detective in charge.
Oh, yeah. Here we go.
Looks like a VIP.
Yep.
Is that our guy?
- Hello, Jaws. - Bingo.
Oh, them motherfuckers are thick as thieves.
You little bitches.
Let's see if we can pick this shit up.
Fuck, can you hear that, man?
Shit, they're speaking Spanish. You take Jaws, I'll take Shotgun.
Yeah. It's shitty, man. I can barely hear them.
"You gotta keep shit on the DL, ese.
Uh...
"Too much heat with the with the cops and FBI."
"Well, you see the cops are fucked up. Fuck the cops and the Feds."
"We're gonna war. All of them, todos."
Something... Fuck, man, I can't hear...
- It's fucking cutting out. - Cutting-off heads...
- Shit, no, fuck this, man. - We're missing it. Come on.
All right, turn on the engine.
- Come on. - All right. Okay, good, good, good.
Yeah. All right, we're back, we're back.
"Are we going to handle the unit?" What the fuck is a unit?
"Stay down, low. Just stay down
"till we line the shit up. That's the unit."
"Understand. Where they at now?"
"Split them up.
"Got a few at the chateau. Uh...
"The others are at the Standard... And the Sunset Tower."
"That's the strip, yeah.
"Yeah, on the strip. Cool, cool, cool.
"Cool."
"We'll hit the Marquee tomorrow night.
"Get the Mexicanos some pussy."
Fucking music.
"Did you hit the memorial?" Memorial?
"Yeah, yeah, I did."
"Traitors, traitors. All of them.
"And we still gave them bitch asses professional deaths.
"Didn't spare a dime on that shit.
"Not like their little leader."
"He's not no Mito no more."
""Cause you took care of that shit, dawg."
- "You know I did." - Fuck.
You get that, motherfucker just admitted to killing your...
Holy shit!
Fuck!
Diego, I'm hit!
Fuck, we got made, we got fucking made. Shit!
Oh, fuck, they're coming, man. Hold on.
- Fuck, you're hit, man. Oh, fuck. - Fuck your hands, man.
Put it up against the wound! Put it up against the wound!
- Press it up there. Come on, Dave. - I'm fucking hit.
- I'm hit. I'm hit, man. Oh, God! - Dave, come on. Fuck, Dave.
Dave. Dave. Fuck. Fuck. Stay with me, Dave.
Stay with me, man. You got this.
Fuck! Come on, Dave! Stay with me.
We're gonna put that shit back in.
I swear to God I'm gonna get you to the fucking hospital.
They're gonna put it right back in.
Fuck off, motherfuckers!
Fuck! Ah, fuck, Dave. Come on, man. Fuck! Fuck!
Come on, man, you're LAPD!
There's no one tougher than you. Come on, motherfucker.
You'll be fine. You got this, Dave! Come on. No, no, no!
Fuck! Fuck! Come on, motherfucker! No!
Not now, not now, you fucking bitch. Turn over.
Turn over, you piece of fucking shit!
Fuck! Come on, man, come on!
Motherfucker, come on!
Fucking piece of shit! God damn it.
Come on. Hang on, Dave. Hang on, Dave.
Fuck! Start, motherfucker, start!
God damn it! Fucking turn over.
Turn over, you piece of shit. Fuck! Start, motherfucker, start!
Start, you little piece of shit!
Dave!
Dave, Dave... Come on. Come on, Dave.
Oh, my God. I got you, I got you.
Come on, Dave. I got you.
It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.
- Get out of my way. - Hey, what are you doing?
Don't put your hands on me. Are you out of your mind?
What the fuck... Are you out of your fucking mind?
You see this, motherfucker?
- You see this? You see this? - You're not coming in here!
That means I get into wherever the fuck I want.
FBI, motherfucker.
- I'll get a subpoena. - I'll be right here.
Do you know what obstruction of justice is, Gomez?
- I'll be right here. - I'm fucking coming back for you.
- Come back, I'll be right here. - Yeah.
You're not sitting on this guy!
I knew when you paused outside to adjust your tie that Dave was dead.
I might have to suspend you, Diego.
Might not have a choice.
Fucking Feds knocking on every door in the division.
What about Martinez's murder?
Shotgun and Jaws, huh?
I can't charge them.
DA will kick it back.
Not enough evidence.
Are you sure you didn't see one of those fucking assholes
point a smoking pistol at you?
I want to get Vanessa out of town.
Maybe my mother, too.
Yeah, get them down to the Den in Oxnard.
The Ventura Sheriff's keep tabs on them for a while.
Think I wanna put a couple patrolmen on your door, too.
The accident, Martinez's stuff,
the camera, everything burned.
What did you hear?
Shit talk, mostly. Nothing big.
But they're coming.
The cartel.
The Verdugo... El Gallo.
He wants to plant a flag in LA and reset the game,
and it's open season on every one of us who doesn't wanna see that happen.
You know, Diego, um, if I was being straight with you,
I have to tell you, I'm not sure what to do next.
Yeah, okay.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I got it.
Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Mom. Mom, stop.
I'm gonna be okay.
Then why are we going to Oxnard?
Because I wanna make sure that you're okay. Okay?
Plus, I know how much you love la jura.
I only have to love one cop.
There's a pot of caldo de res in the fridge.
- Got it. - And a thin, um, tin of carnitas.
Thank you.
Be safe, mijo, eh?
Extra safe.
Hmm?
- Was work upset with you? - "Was work upset with me?"
That's the question you're asking me right now?
Yeah, that you have to take time off. What's wrong with me asking you that?
I think you're burying the lede, don't you think?
What the hell happened with Martinez?
We'll take care of that.
"We'll take care of that."
It's just business as usual, huh?
And what do you want me to do, break down and start crying?
You still haven't clarified any of this for me.
- I'm LAPD, baby. - How long are we gone for?
We don't do clarity, okay?
Come on.
Was work upset with you?
Actually, I think I'll be the toast of the break room.
Not too many elementary school teachers are marked for death.
Don't joke about that.
I have to joke about it
because the reality of it makes me want to scream.
It's just a precaution, okay?
We don't know if they were targeting me, Vaney, okay?
They... They saw a strange car, two guys sitting inside...
And they just started randomly shooting?
Yeah. And just started shooting.
Babe...
That look in your eye.
Yeah. I'm pissed.
That's not what I see, baby.
What do you see?
Rage.
Diego, felt like you should have these things.
I think Pedro would have wanted it that way. Jesus.
PS, look at your brother's sketch of El Chicano.
On his belt is a tecpatl, an Aztec war knife.
They believed that every soul sacrificed
at the edge of this blade would then inhabit
the knife itself, giving power to the warrior who wielded it.
He was amassing these things, Jesus, gathering them up.
The mask, the motorcycle.
I think he wanted to become this.
And never did.
- Where you from? - East Los.
- Where you from? - I'm from East Los, ese.
Did that motherfucker just admit to killing your brother?
You're gonna be a good sicario, homie!
- What? - Sicario, ese.
El Gallo is all about blood, carnal.
Mexicano.
Puro.
That's me, homie.
You should be my right hand, carnalito.
I bring you along, we can ball out in this fucking bitch,
run these fucking calles, ese.
You know how we do this shit.
Órale.
- Always, huh? - Always, homie.
- Por vida. - Por vida.
Por Los Ángeles.
Let's get some fucking pussy, homie.
I'm fucking hit, homie. Get me to the fucking hospital.
I got you. I got you.
Go kill that motherfucker. Get the fuck in there!
I am a good sicario, carnal.
I run these streets, homes.
Fuck...
- Who's there? - Open up. It's me.
Shit.
Just a minute, Cap.
Hey, boss.
Saul Campos is dead.
Jaws, whatever the fuck they called him.
- How? - Downtown nightclub Marquee.
What happened?
Someone rampaged through that banda, ripshit riot,
fucked shit up, killed a bunch of Mexican nationals,
Campos, Jose Galan...
Shotgun.
Fucking asshole.
Apparently, he was there, but he disappeared.
Who were these Mexican nationals?
I'd make them the Soto Street shooters if I could.
Your leg is bleeding.
Huh?
Your leg, it's bleeding.
Goddamn cuts from the crash keep opening up.
Mind handing me the rag from the counter over there, Cap?
Maybe a bottle of water, too? These fucking pills.
Did you put in the paperwork for my suspension yet?
Haven't gotten around to it.
What about Martinez's body?
What are we doing with it?
Yeah. Ship him to Chicago. He's got family there.
I wanna see him before you do that.
That okay?
So, uh, you have any theories?
About tonight? Who hit the spot?
I mean, when you said Jaws was dead, I was like,
"Good. Fuck him."
Based on that, I don't really see why my opinion matters, boss.
He's responsible for Martinez's death as far as I'm concerned.
So I'm glad he's gone.
I just wish they'd gotten Shotgun, too.
So you wish you could've taken a shot at them?
Bet your ass I do.
Whatever your brother has that's relative to this case,
I'm gonna need to take it right now.
- It's just a bunch of prison shit. - I want it.
It's right over there.
Take care of that leg.
Fuck.
Shit was crazy, man.
Motherfuckers got popped, man.
Meanwhile, the LAPD
is still looking for this man believed to be involved in the shooting.
The victims have yet to be identified,
and authorities remain baffled as to the motives
behind these gruesome murders.
Early indications are, they are unconfirmed reports
at this time, that the victims are Mexican nationals.
The club has a checkered history
in law enforcement circles with the LAPD telling us...
Sí, señor.
...this area looking for the suspect.
This wasn't all for nothing, brother. I promise.
They don't run from this.
And they can't hide.
Sorry, Detective. We got processing.
Who's this?
Another DB from the Marquee.
That thing that went down last night.
What happened?
Well, these guys got done,
and nobody's really talking about it, which tells me
I really shouldn't be talking about it, but it was bad.
This guy is supposedly
the son of some Mexican kingpin drug lord.
You know, we haven't had this many bodies come through here ever.
Sorry, I'll give you a minute.
Thanks.
I didn't kill you, did I?
Somebody choked you out.
Shotgun is gonna be along to join you real soon, Saul.
Está aquí.
Órale.
I've lived with that loss my entire life,
as you will live with this loss
for the rest of yours.
But we can avenge them both,
as a father
and a son.
El Chicano.
All available LAPD units city-wide,
respond to explosion at Whittier Station.
Multiple fatalities reported. Watch commanders en route.
Scene structure is on fire and unstable.
We got four more coming. Let's go.
Cap!
Cap, where you at?
Urgent. Let's get him out of here.
Cap! The fuck happened?
Fucking blew us up. They fucking blew us up!
Who? Who?
The cartel. Fucking Mexicans. Fucking...
- Let's get you outta here. - No, I can fucking stand up.
I can stand up.
Come on, come on, come on.
They took our people, Diego. They took our people.
Can we get a paramedic over here?
They took my fucking cops. They took my fucking cops.
Come on, get him to an ambulance. Come on.
I got you, sir.
Destruction...
It's an ugly thing.
But...
Cops will fall.
Cities will fall.
Verdugo will rise
and shields will fill the streets.
Perro no mas.
Es el gringo.
Ahhh!
He's running!
I'm a friend.
Shots fired, shots fired!
I have a code three. Officer down, I repeat, officer down!
Ha!
And here I am.
...on American soil.
What the...
Why don't you come out, motherfucker?
Chicano!
Show your fucking self, huh!
Hey, won't you come bleed with me, motherfucker?
Bleed with me!
I've been waiting for you for 20 fucking years.
Even God wants this fight!
God wants this fight.
Oh, you don't got the hands to deal with me, motherfucker.
I'm gonna blow that fucking mask off that face,
stare into the demon's eyes that killed my father...
Know thy enemy.
Pedro owed you this.
No, no.
Detective Hernandez, just relax, we're almost at the hospital.
Detective Diego Hernandez,
working in a dangerous undercover capacity,
after the murder of his partner Detective David Martinez,
was investigating key members of the notorious
Verdugo drug cartel,
in an effort to expose their plans
to infiltrate and terrorize Los Angeles.
The cartel, led by Alejandro Truco,
more infamously known as "El Gallo,"
launched an unprovoked attack on our very own
Whittier Police Station last week,
killing several police officers and wounding several others.
This represents the first time, since September 11th of 2001,
that foreign elements have conducted an assault
against US citizens on American soil.
Detective Hernandez displayed bravery, courage
and the mental and intestinal fortitude of the LAPD's finest,
single-handedly tracking down the perpetrators
and prevailing in a brutal gun battle
that claimed the lives of both Alejandro "El Gallo" Truco
and the man believed to be his second-in-command in Los Angeles,
Jose "Shotgun" Galan.
Amen.
¡Venganza para la familia!
This is all-out war now,
but this is a war that we need to fight from the right side of the law, Diego.
El Gallo? Fuck him.
Those Verdugos are gonna regroup.
They're gonna fucking come at us tenfold.
Then we meet them and we fight.
And we fight, like this,
not like that.
Hey, boss.
Who was it, back in the day?
Gonna need to see some ID.
It's okay.
Missed all the excitement.
Shit's gonna get deep, eh? Watch out.
I watch for you, you watch for me, ese.
Yeah, right.
LAPD's pride and joy.
You made it.
Órale...
How you feeling?
Right now? Like refried shit.
So what are you gonna do?
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
You got the tecpatl?
The what?
The knife. The Aztec knife.
Oh.
Yeah.
Yeah, I got it.
You know, I think Pedro would have really wanted you to have it.
Who knows, might come in handy.
Right. Around the house.
In the barrio...
Bad things happen when the sky turns black.
Una, dos, tres.
My brother Diego can fight this fight from the side that is right and good.
I am neither right, norgood.
I will make up the difference in blood.
Where you from?
East Los.
I bang for mi barrio, for East Los...
por vida.
For I am Mexican-American.