Original subtitles

Fans of the Notorious B.I.G.

said a final goodbye to the rap star.

There were tears at the memorial service.

But when the funeral procession made its way

through the streets of Brooklyn, there were angry confrontations.

Even an explosion of pepper spray.

It was a solemn homecoming tribute for the fallen rap icon.

But it turned into pockets of violent scuffling,

as police confronted rowdy fans.

Crowds began surging against police barricades.

Fans danced on top of cars.

People were losing their cool.

Suddenly, things were out of control.

Police moved in, asking the fans to disperse,

but some of them resisted.

Authorities used pepper spray to break up the gathering.

Before it was over, ten people were arrested,

most for disorderly conduct.

People in Brooklyn say cops used excessive force

in handling the crowds.

There were accusations of brutality and insensitivity.

Again, police officials say officers--

♪ ...was the case That they gave me ♪

♪ I'm fresh up out my coma I got my mama and my daddy ♪

♪ And my homies in my corner ♪

♪ It's gonna take a miracle ♪

♪ They say for me to walk again And talk again ♪

♪ But anyway I get fronted some keys I

♪ To get back on my feet ♪

♪ And everything that nigga said ♪

♪ Came to reality ♪

♪ Living like a baller Loc ♪

♪ Having money and blowing Hella chronic smoke ♪

♪ I bought my mama a Benz I bought my Boo-Boo a Jag ♪

♪ And now I'm rolling In a nine-trizzy El Do-Rad ♪

♪ Just remember Who changed your mind ♪

♪ ‘Cause when you start Set-tripping that ass is mine ♪

♪ Indeed, agreed proceed to smoke weed ♪

Can I help you?

Yo, roll your fucking window up, White boy, before I fucking...

knock your fucking ass out.

Yeah, right. Just one of them.

I'm one of what? I'm one of what?

Yo, pull the fuck over right now!

You don't know who the fuck you fucking with!

Fuck.

Jesus-fucking-Christ.

Mother...

Inbred!

Police! Drop the gun!

- Drop it now! - I'm a cop! I'm a fucking cop!

I got called to a road rage incident.

Eight miles northeast from where Christopher Wallace,

the Notorious B.I.G., had been gunned down nine days prior.

I didn't connect the two at first, but when I did...

I lost everything that mattered.

That day, on that street corner, the first door to the labyrinth opened.

♪ You do what they told you ♪

♪ And now you do what they told you ♪

♪ And now you do what they told you ♪

♪ And now you do what they told you ♪

♪ And now you do what they told you ♪

In 1991, four White cops beat Rodney King

and were found not guilty.

And the city of Los Angeles revolted.

♪ Those who died ♪

♪ Are justified For wearing the badge

♪ They're the chosen Whites, come on ♪

But what we need are honest, non-biased police officers.

People, we gonna keep it real out this motherfucker.

Tupac Shakur gave a poetic voice

to this frustrated rebellious generation.

And then it was cashed in on

by L.A.-based rap label Death Row Records,

owned by the nefarious Suge Knight.

On the East Coast, a rapper with a smooth flow

that went by Notorious B.I.G., rose to prominence,

building a brand for the New York label Bad Boy Records.

♪ It was all a dream ♪

♪ used to read Word Up! magazine ♪

♪ Salt-N-Pepa and Heavy D Up in the limousine I

Tupac and I, we two individual people.

And even though we was going through our drama,

I would never wish death on nobody.

And the East Coast/ West Coast thing

is something that journalists and people were making up

just to get paid off so it can drag out...

- Here in Vegas,

shots were fired.

Tupac was hit four times.

Six months later, police are investigating

the shooting death of rapper Biggie Smalls.

He was gunned down...

Who killed rapper Notorious B.1.G.?

And were L.A.P.D. officers involved?

The mystery of his murder has gone unsolved for 18 years now.

Neither Notorious B.1.G.'s

or Tupac's murder has been solved.

Russell Poole was responsible for heading up the investigation

into Biggie's murder in 1997.

I'm Detective Russell Poole.

Someone has lost a family member, and they deserve lo...

to have the answers.

I'm his mother.

My son was shot.

I would like to know why.

Miss Wallace would like to know why.

...contain my power, like,

they got to be dead, know what I'm saying?

...I kind of realized how powerful

Tupac and I was.

You know what I'm saying? Because...

we two individual people.

We waged a coastal beef.

You know what I'm saying?

One man against one man

made a whole West Coast hate a whole East Coast,

and vice versa, you know what I'm saying?

And that really bugged me out.

Like, yo, dude don't like me so this whole coast don't like me.

You know what I'm saying?

I knew it wasn't true.

Or at least what I knew I was getting blamed for wasn't true.

I can't speak for nothing else. You know, I wasn't there.

But I know what he was blaming me for wasn't true.

But when he died, I was just like, whoa. You know what I'm saying?

It kind of took me by--

I mean, even though we was going through our drama,

I would never wish death on nobody...

- Can I help you?

The door was open.

I knocked.

I'm Darius Jackson.

I wanted to talk to you about the murder of Notorious B.I.G.

- I'm a journalist. - I know.

Of course you're a journalist.

Well, I've already stated that I would rather not

speak to any of you.

So, thank you very much for your time. Go on, get out.

Eighteen years ago, I-1 used an interview of you

in a news special that I was doing called "East versus West."

"East versus West."

Yeah.

It was terrible. It was awful.

Your theory was completely wrong.

Yeah, well, the Peabody's would disagree with you on that.

- The Peabody's? - Yes.

So you equate life and death with a fucking award show?

How about I pay you.

- You what? - Pay you.

You'll pay me?

Get out of my sight.

Because you know what I should do, is knock your fucking teeth out.

Yeah, well, then I'd have to call the police

and tell them about that, don't I, Detective?

Oh, and do you trust that they would come here?

and that they would do their job for you?

I did my job, didn't I? I found you.

White guy shoots and kills a Black guy.

Who's at fault?

Are you threatening me?

No. No.

It's a riddle.

White guy shoots and kills a Black guy.

Who's at fault?

I don't know.

The answer is, ask more questions.

What does this have to do with Biggie?

That's what I thought.

Shoo.

Next time knock, please.

I did knock.

Oh, fuck...

I have two journalistic creeds.

One: emotions are the enemy of facts.

Right?

- Hey, Jack. - Hey. Good morning.

Remember, we are a news organization.

Which brings us to my second journalistic creed.

There is no bias in facts.

It is possible that you will find success

while you are young, which would be unlucky,

because you wouldn't learn patience.

How goes the Biggie retrospective?

I met Russell Poole today.

Still on the Wallace case... as a citizen.

He's got a war room with-- With all kinds of evidence

tacked up on the walls.

It's sad.

Yeah, well, that can happen when a person rests their entire reputation

on a single case.

I mean, you made a hell of a name for yourself, but you fucked up.

Biggie did not pay for the hit on Tupac.

You know, so get it right this time.

Just don't waste your time with Russell Poole.

Because his X-Files theories have been debunked.

Danny, I'll get this.

Drink up.

If you feel your life's in danger,

why are you talking to us?

Because, man, I mean...

you know, if Biggie was my son?

I mean, if I get got and somebody could help my mom,

I would hope they would do the right thing, you know?

That's what I'm trying to do now.

Don't shoot.

Hey, there he is.

- Are you expecting me? - Oh, absolutely.

You know, you're a pretty predictable kind of guy.

I can't trust nobody. I'm running for my life.

Who's that on the TV?

- Doesn't matter.

How do you make sense of all this-- This-- This...

unorganized bullshit?

That's my son's.

He plays shortstop for the Fins.

Got any more asinine questions you'd like to ask?

Detective Poole, I know you care about this case,

but you know the L.A.P.D. refuted both our theories, right?

Doesn't mean mine wasn't right.

- So who shot Biggie Smalls? - Oh, no, no, no.

- No, you put that away. - Who shot Biggie Smalls?

Put that away.

- Whoa, slow down, slow down. - Put it away.

- You ask permission.

- What's wrong with you?

You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?

Perfect goddamn stranger walks into my house like it's nothing.

I let you walk in today, and you try and point that camera at me?

You don't even ask? You have no respect?

Look, I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be here.

You tell me who shot Biggie and I'll leave.

Let's get this straight.

When you speak to me about him,

you refer to him as Christopher or Mr. Wallace.

You owe him that.

Detective Poole...

I'm the only one who's crawling up the asshole of L.A. to talk to you.

And I promise you, I'm the last one who's ever going to ask you the question.

Who shot...

"Christopher..."

Wallace?

I don't know.

You don't know?

You've spent the last 20 years in this dank apartment.

What, on a "I don't know"?

I had a theory.

And my investigation was ripped out from underneath me.

See all this stuff you called,

I believe it was "unorganized bullshit."

Dots.

That's 20-plus years of dots.

I'm very, very good at connecting dots.

The clock of life...

is wound but once.

No man has the power to tell when the hand may stop.

Yo, Biggie!

Biggie! Biggie!

This is the only time you own.

Live.

Love.

Toil with the will.

Put no trust in tomorrow.

Or the hand may bend, be still.

Hey, yo, Biggie. Yo, Biggie.

Back up. You got to back up.

You can't hide from the truth.

That truth needs to expose.

This damn man plotting shit, I know.

He's threatening people...

My mission is basically--

autobiography of myself.

Hey, what you doing?

Excuse me, ladies. No disrespect.

Is it cool if I get his autograph?

Yo, I'm your hugest fan, Big.

- Yo, you mind signing this for me, man? - No problem.

Hey, I stay bumpin' "Juicy" and "Big Poppa," man,

that's my joints right there, yo.

I make music for everybody.

- I'm pumping it. - Thank you, man. I'm for real.

There is not a day that goes by that I don't miss my son.

911 emergency. What are you reporting?

Yeah, we need an ambulance on Fairfax and Wilshire.

Please, in Los Angeles. We got a man shot.

- We have a man shot.

Twenty-four-year-old rap artist, Notorious B.1.G.,

Christopher Wallace, was shot early Sunday morning,

and later died of gunshot wounds...

How long until you got to the scene of the shooting?

A month.

One month.

Oh, no, no, no.

You don't cheat, no.

Think. Don't write. Think.

Why'd it take you a month to get on the case?

Because I was on a different case.

White cop shot a Black cop.

Drop it now!

I'm a fucking cop!

Shit. This guy's got a badge.

He drew down on me!

Let's go! Get in here now!

We're here, Frank. We got you, man.

Partner, man down.

Gun! We got a gun!

Get in there and help him.

Get in there.

You see it?

He fucking drew down on me.

- You read that on the two-way, right? - 1 did. We're good.

Hey, boss, look at this.

He drew down on me at the fucking light over there.

I was just sitting there, he fucking drew down on me

- at the fucking light. - Hey, listen, Frank.

We checked his pockets, man.

This guy's a cop.

White guy shoots a Black guy, who's at fault?

- Who was the aggressor? - Doesn't matter.

Ghost of Rodney King still haunted the city so there was, like--

There was only one way this was gonna end.

And I was the only idiot to think otherwise.

Carry on through.

Nineteen ninety-seven.

Everybody thought the L.A.P.D. was filled with only one thing: racist cops.

But it wasn't.

It also had politicians.

Thanks.

Got yourself a genuine cluster of fuck, Russ.

Two L.A.P.D. went wild west. In daylight.

- Shots were fired at the intersection. - Witnesses?

Got too goddamn many of them.

Our shooter is Undercover Detective Frank Lyga.

Claims self-defense.

The deceased is Officer Kevin Gaines.

Where's Officer Lyga now?

They're holding him across the street for you

in that burger fucking joint.

- All right. - Cross the T's and dot the I's.

- I'll get them. - The brass will have our asses

if any part of this comes back murky.

- Okay? - Gotcha.

All right. Bye.

Excuse me.

- Who's the detective supervisor? - I'm the detective supervisor.

How do you do? Russell Poole.

Rupple. Nice to meet you.

Can you bring Detective Lyga to me, please?

Okay. Yeah, you got it.

Hey, Gary?

Gary?

- Gary! - Yeah.

You got a surveillance camera there, you got another one over there.

- Okay. - Get photographs of those for me.

- Julie? - Right here.

Could you see if you can recover any casings

from the intersection there?

One-King-51 to control.

King-51, go ahead.

I need a DMV on a green Mitsubishi Montero.

License number is two-Adam-Boy...

Mary-five-four-three.

- Lyga. - Yeah?

Detective Russell Poole.

Did you identify yourself as an officer?

Think I'm dropping three years undercover for some bullshit road rage?

He identified himself.

Throwing up his set.

Flashing Blood B's at me, saying he's going to fucking cap my ass

in the middle of the fucking intersection.

Look, I drove away. Ask my crew.

He chased me, man.

He caught me, raised up, and I shot in fucking defense.

That motherfucker is not L.A.P.D.

He is a straight-up fucking banger. I shit you not.

King-51, we have your DMV info.

The vehicle belongs to a business in Tarzana.

Advise.

Officer Gaines' Montero is registered to Death Row Records.

Repeat, please.

Officer Gaines' Montero is registered to Death Row Records.

And this is nine days after the Christopher Wallace murder.

And not one arrest.

Not one.

And everyone knew who the prime suspect was.

♪ With so much drama in the L-B-C ♪

♪ It's kinda hard being Snoop D-O-double-G ♪

♪ But I somehow Some way keep coming up... ♪

Suge Knight was the head of Death Row Records.

And Suge Knight was a gang member.

The Blood. Mob Piru Blood.

Death Row was a legitimate business, but its CEO played by street rules.

♪ And they ain't leaving Till 6:00 in the morning ♪

♪ So what you want to do... ♪

♪ In the black SS, that '96 ♪

♪ With that Teflon vest Ready to hit ♪

♪ A nigga up for the work I know he got it ♪

Where he at?

Baby, I want him to see these kids.

♪ Put some bullets in my clip So my nine tight ♪

♪ Ready to ride... ♪

Where he at, huh?

What you looking at? Huh?

Bring your bitch-ass out here, Suge!

I know you did it!

- Where you at, Suge? - Get the fuck out of here!

Who gonna help me take care of these kids?

Coward-ass motherfucker!

You hiding in there like a little bitch!

You gonna take care of these kids? You gonna pay my bills?

You want to act like animal, I treat you like animal.

Want to act like dog, I treat you like dog.

Understand me?

- Mm-hm. - Understand me?

- Sir, sir, sir, please. - What batty boy bumbaclart

think he gonna roll up here?

Okay. Okay. I'm a police officer.

I don't want any trouble. There are children present.

- White boy! - I don't know...

- I just... - Roll up.

They killed him!

- Thank you very much. - The police here now!

They killed my husband. They killed him.

Officer Kevin Gaines. They're cop killers.

What makes you say that they killed your husband?

Kevin used to do security for that murdering-ass nigga,

and he probably saw something he shouldn't have seen!

And they killed him!

...car was riddled with bullets,

and he'd been so badly wounded that he was pronounced dead

at the nearby Cedars-Sinai hospital.

This is a very tragic event

that has similarities to another shooting.

But there were a lot of people that were in the area,

and we're hopeful that someone will come forward

and give us information so that we can solve this case.

There you go.

Thank you very much. Appreciate it.

You know the cops have come around asking for this.

Well, thank you for hanging on to it.

What, Poole? Huh? What the fuck's so important

I got to come out here in the fucking monsoon?

I didn't want to discuss this in the station.

Why are other officers trying to acquire this tape?

- This is my investigation. - Come on, Poole.

Get ready for every Black cop in L.A. to come looking over your shoulder, huh?

Bad fucking time for optics.

By the way, I met Gaines' wife last night under rather unpleasant circumstances.

She pulled up in a $200,000 Mercedes.

Said he was working for Death Row.

Are you kidding me? Four White cops beat Rodney King.

Look at the bigger picture.

Gaines was a-a violent hothead.

A lot of them are.

A lot of who are?

The jungle bunnies.

Huh? Gaines buried himself.

There's no need for us to dig for more dirt.

What's the word on the Wallace case?

The word is it's not your case.

You're South Bureau and that's Robbery-Homicide's case.

Focus on your own.

Figured White detective crazy enough to roll up on Death Row

might want to know something.

I have a weapon.

I'm Special Agent Terrence Watts. FBI.

FBI infiltrated Death Row about a year ago.

I barely made it to the outer rim, so I just mainly hear rumors.

But I can 100% confirm this:

Suge Knight has L.A.P.D. in his inner circle.

I'm talking straight-up mobster shit.

- Officer Gaines was one of them? - He advised on protocol.

Monitoring police scanners when they rode dirty.

Coordinating how to use walkie-talkies.

Listen, this is something

that I would not risk my cover for just yet.

But they're saying...

"We got Biggie."

And Officer Gaines was an accessory.

I got a problem.

Black guy in a green jeep on my ass.

I need you guys. I think he's got a gun.

Hey, you want to look, talk shit and run?

Look at this, motherfucker.

I just shot somebody.

I need help.

After you shot Officer Gaines, what went through your mind?

What went through my mind?

"Good."

Obviously you've never had the service end of a handgun

pointed at your face.

Excuse me?

I might remind you you're speaking to a superior officer.

Not in this room I'm not.

I know my rights.

In here, I face civilian consequences, and I'm afforded civilian rights.

I got a two-and-a-half and a one-year-old at home.

A man raised a gun to kill me and I was faster.

To that I say, "Good..."

Sir.

Detective Poole, do you have any additional evidence

to refute or strengthen Detective Lyga's assertion

that Officer Gaines acted in a manner unbecoming?

Nothing as yet that I can prove, Lieutenant.

Come here.

What the fuck was that, hm?

I happen to strongly believe that Gaines was into much more.

I don't give a fucking shit, Columbo!

We're not Internal Affairs.

What were you going to do? Arrest him?

He's fucking dead!

The facts point to something more here.

Oh, drop the Boy Scout bullshit, Russ.

I asked you not to complicate a simple fucking case.

Lyga's cleared.

He's probably on his way home to have a fucking Pabst Blue Ribbon.

- And you're fucked off

because you didn't get a soapbox to wax lyrical about the shield.

I don't ever want to hear about this fucking case again.

You hear me, Detective?

So, what's it going to take?

So you scammed your way up?

No, no. I don't scam.

I do.

And that's how you do it.

Exactly what you did.

Let me tell you something.

Every detective in America wants on Robbery-Homicide.

And I was certainly no different.

I mean, that's the major leagues.

But, no, you don't scam your way in.

You get in by being the best at one thing: solving murders.

That's...

Hey.

Welcome to Parker Center, home of Robbery-Homicide.

I'm Miller. Let's get you up to speed.

Russell Poole. Pleasure.

Hey, this is the new guy.

Just got promoted up from South Bureau. Thanks.

So, I think if we...

Yeah, hold on.

Hey, Chief,

That's right. Chief of Police.

Welcome to the big time, Poole. What's your handicap?

In what? In golf?

No, in life. Yes, in golf.

- I don't know. - Give me his file.

Thank you.

Russell Poole is a South End gangs expert

with over 500 crime scenes under his belt?

Well, fuck me, I didn't know we promoted on merit anymore.

I just assume you know what you're doing.

I do, sir.

N 0, no "si sir."

Fred or Miller.

You now, in Robbery-Homicide, Detective,

we get the city's highest profile cases but we don't act like Marines.

This is Homicide. This is Lefferts.

She's a pretty good detective.

And this is Snow. Bit of a dummy.

Can't hit a softball either.

This is Bank Detail over here.

And through this door...

You are now investigating the murder of the Notorious B.I.G.

Don't feed into it.

If you feed into it, it's going to do nothing but escalate.

You know what I'm saying?

Okay, according to initial police reports, 12:49 a.m., six shots are fired.

Los Angeles police are investigating

the shooting death of rapper Notorious B.I.G.

Bullet casings were found on the scene.

GECO 9mm's.

They're German manufactured.

GECOs. Very rare.

Ballistics is checking for extractive marks,

and we got Fingerprints looking for fingerprints on these.

Four shots hit Wallace.

Two bullets were recovered from the body.

The fourth was the kill shot, striking the left lung, liver, heart.

The shooter's vehicle was a dark sedan.

Dark color. Green, possibly black.

Some witnesses say it was a Caprice,

but most of the witnesses think it was a Chevy Impala SS.

A Super Sport.

This is a surveillance photo the night of the murder.

Same car.

Two composite sketches.

One in Los Angeles, the other done in New York

when the L.A.P.D. went to interview the witnesses

about the Petersen on March 9th.

And lastly, we got Cls.

We got a county full of confidential informants

crawling out of the woodwork to give us information.

These rats are crawling out of the sewer, for God's sake.

So, in short, we got hundreds of leads.

We got hundreds and hundreds of leads.

So you don't tell your partner

about Death Row having Gaines and other cops on the payroll?

At that point I didn't know Miller, or-or how he would react.

So, no, no, I didn't...

I didn't tell him.

I knew if the Gaines tip was legit, it would come up again.

♪ Yo, cold 187 ♪

♪ They trying to give you a murder rap

♪ And you ain't even like that ♪

♪ Yo, serve these niggas ♪

♪ ‘Cause they deserve to get dissed ♪

Hurry up, man. I ain't got all day.

Well, maybe I ain't in a hurry to find out

what's waiting for me at the top of this hill.

- Keep stepping.

Miller? You fucking bitch!

You know, one day this shit's not gonna work.

I couldn't wait to congratulate you on your early release.

- And you're welcome, by the way. - Who the fuck is this?

Psycho Mike, this is Detective Poole.

He's new, so he's nobody, but he's delighted.

- How did Suge settle in prison? - I have no fucking idea.

Mike, we're boys, huh? Hm?

Boys get each other early release, Mike.

Boys get Suge put in a cell next to yours.

Come on, man.

I don't want to fuck with this shit no more.

Look, I don't know shit.

All right. Okay.

Poole, we're going to take him back to prison.

Turn on the sirens. I want his cellmates to know

he's been hanging out with his L.A.P.D. friends, huh?

Come on, man. What the fuck, dude?

You lowa motherfuckers don't know shit about the streets.

Dude, it's like I got a gun to my head

and you asking me to pull the motherfucking trigger.

Look, Mike...

Mike, listen to me.

You talk to me.

I'll get your sister out in five.

All right, man, fuck it.

There ain't nothing but Bloods in there, so Suge's fine.

But Suge don't want to see Bad Boy rise up so Biggie gets got.

Suge says, "We hit him up, Biggie takes it like a big fat bitch."

- How was it coordinated? - Motherfucker, eat a dick.

Who's talking to you? Am I talking to him?

What, you think they fucking draw this shit up on chalkboards?

Man, this shit was straight stealth.

It was real quiet.

They hired a fucking contract hit.

Did Suge call it?

Suge don't pop off at the mouth like that.

He's at the top of the food chain. He's insulated.

They're saying this other nigga called it.

Some Mob Piru Blood named D-Mack.

That's what they saying.

D-Mack?

All right.

What about the shooter?

Let me show you a composite sketch of a guy.

No, I don't need to see that.

He's clean-cut.

Faded hairdo. Medium complected.

The motherfucker walks around in a suit and a bow tie

like he's a Nation of Islam.

His name's Amir Muhammed.

I got what I need.

- No, you didn't. - I got the composite sketch.

I got the name. I'm done here.

Well, go ahead and run with it, and see what happens.

What, is there something you ain't telling me or something?

There's a whole book of things I ain't telling you.

I'll say it was an unnamed source, all right?

Amir Muhammed's never even been arrested.

Guy's clean as a whistle.

- You want a name?

You want a name?

It's going to be the big story of the week, that's for sure.

I just scooped the name of Biggie's shooter.

Stanley Kirk Burrell.

Can you hear me now?

Hey, can I call you right back?

Jack, I don't think you should touch this one, babe.

In fact, you can't touch this...

because...

Holy fuck.

Your killer is...

MC Hammer.

♪ You can't touch this ♪

Jack.

♪ You can't touch this, Jack ♪

♪ You can't touch this, Jack ♪

♪ Can't touch this Mm-mm, can't touch this I

- I got it. - All right, I'll stop.

- I'm going to stop. - Don't you got work to do?

- Seriously. - Yeah, okay, okay.

I'll stop if you stop.

♪ Hammer time God, I love you, Jack ♪

I'll start it from the beginning.

I got it already, all right? I got it.

You don't got it yet.

All right, Jack. Jack, stop.

Jack, stop!

And here comes the pitch.

And batting next, at shortstop, number 29, Russell Poole, Jr.

Runners on first and second.

Here it comes.

We got one run coming in.

We got a runner standing on third.

And that's Poole with the stand-up power.

How'd your son play?

My son is not something I'm willing to discuss with you.

Is MC Hammer?

You got me. That was a good one.

Oh, that was a great one.

- One of my best. - I deserved it.

Yeah, you did. Yeah, you did.

Why is the Wallace case so important to you?

I'm obsessed with the truth, and that's my sickness.

I remember Bobby Kennedy said,

"Every society gets the kind of criminal it deserves."

"And every community gets the kind of law enforcement it insists on."

At one time I actually believed that.

When I joined the L.A.P.D., we called each other brother officer.

I wanted to serve on that force.

I wanted on this case because I had to know for myself...

if there were, in fact, dirty cops involved.

Would you like me to start at the trial or the arrest?

Tell it however you want to tell it.

Take me from the next dot.

Well, you follow every lead, really, even if it's just to rule it out.

So I'll start with your theory.

The idea that Biggie had paid for the hit on Tupac.

We looked into it.

Went to Vegas to meet Varney.

He's the lead Detective Investigator in the murder of Tupac Shakur.

At 4:03 p.m., Las Vegas time,

Tupac Shakur passed away, y'all.

Give me a moment of silence.

All right, this is where the whole melee took place.

This guy getting the shit kicked out of him is Orlando Anderson.

Tupac is there somewhere.

And look at that guy doing the ground and pound.

Watch this. Boom, boom.

And here's Tupac and Suge Knight making a hasty escape.

Now Suge Knight just violated the terms of his parole,

which is why he's sitting in the federal penitentiary right now.

Two hours after this, Tupac Shakur is killed in a drive-by off the Strip.

Are you guys hearing...

that the shooters...

were hired by Christopher Wallace?

Look, the "Biggie killed Tupac theory" is bullshit.

This is the most famous rapper in the world.

He's 6'2", he's 400 pounds. He's got an entourage.

He's not going to slip into the most CCTV'd city on earth unseen.

No, Wallace, he checked out.

Biggie didn't have Tupac killed?

No.

No, he didn't.

You know, sometimes...

the bad guys will put the word out on the street

that somebody else committed their crime.

It's like a smoke screen.

If that smoke spreads wide enough, the media grabs hold of it...

Wildfire.

So what did you do when the lead went dead?

We asked more questions.

What was Suge Knight's demeanor

when you interviewed him after the shooting?

Um, elusive.

He didn't help us. Nobody did.

Truth be told, Vegas doesn't want us to close the Tupac case.

Move the cars, open the bars.

Keep the Strip open.

Leave those circus trials in L.A., you know what I mean?

- How's that? - You saw our murder book, right?

- Yeah. - Every page is a sworn statement

by an eyewitness that contradicts another sworn statement by an eyewitness.

We take a suspect to trial, his attorney will have a field day,

and we'll be left holding our dicks,

like those L.A.P.D. dicks after the O.J. trial.

You know what?

Go fuck yourself.

Come again?

You Crisco-oiled piece of shit. You fucking heard me.

Are you serious?

Those L.A.P.D. dicks got royally fucked

because they had the audacity to pin the murder on a guilty man.

A man lucky enough to be charged after Rodney King,

so Cochran could just hint that they were racists.

Everybody heard the Fuhrman tape.

I'm talking about solid guys, lifetime fucking guys

who had their retirement fucking ruined.

Why? Because they had the balls to do their fucking job!

And here you are, you gutless fucking wonder.

You want to talk about cops?

You will never, in your career,

do the cop work they did on a fucking lunch break.

And one more thing. Fuck Fuhrman.

You remind me of him.

And fuck this fucking city.

Miserable piece of fucking shit.

You idolize guys ahead of you in the force.

Then you watch them get fucked by the very system they propped up.

It's a game of inches. The point is to win.

So us? We stick together,

and we do everything we have to to win.

Yeah?

The FBI have infiltrated Death Row.

There are L.A.P.D. officers in its inner circle,

and these officers are loyal to Suge Knight.

I believe that Officer Gaines may have been an accessory

to Biggie Smalls' murder.

Okay, Poole, walk me through it.

12:30 a.m.

Wallace exits the Petersen and gets in the last vehicle

of a three-car convoy.

It's a Suburban. It's driven by Greg Young,

- a.k.a. G-Money. - Right.

In the first vehicle is an off-duty Inglewood police officer,

Reginald Blaylock.

He pulls out...

blocks the traffic on Fairfax.

Okay? Now, Biggie's security, Eugene Deal,

walks to the garage exit where he comes face-to-face

with a man in a blue suit and a bow tie,

who Deal identifies as a member of the Fruit of Islam,

the Nation of Islam's--

- Security guards. - Yeah, exactly.

Deal shows the man that he's armed.

The man leaves.

Deal then notices, as do many other eyewitnesses,

a black sedan parked facing southbound on Fairfax.

- Right? - Yeah.

And it's in front of a white vehicle, the occupants of which

shoot video of the incident, okay?

Deal then gets in the second car of the convoy.

Excuse me. Kenneth Storey is driving.

Puffy is sitting in the passenger seat.

Then they pull just past the curb.

Biggie's SUV then pulls in behind.

Okay?

On the sidewalk are approximately 15 people

who had attended the party at the Petersen.

DJ Quik, Kurupt and--

- What's the--? Foxy Brown. - Foxy Brown here.

Now while Biggie's car idles at the exit of the garage,

he signs an autograph for a fan.

And then he speaks to a woman who approaches the vehicle.

Now, 12:49 a.m.

Puffy's car pulls out,

heads north on Fairfax.

Eugene Deal, Wallace's head of security, he advises Kenneth Storey,

blow the light for security reasons, okay?

Puffy's car goes through that yellow light

and turns left onto Wilshire.

But Biggie's car...

stops at the red light.

That lane exactly.

The second he stops at this red light, a white SUV...

pulls in parallel to Biggie's vehicle and stops, blocking it.

Now, at this exact same second,

our shooter in the black sedan...

- The Chevy Impala SS? - Yes.

He speeds north on Fairfax,

pulling parallel to the right side of Biggie's car, boxing him in.

Our shooter fires six shots.

And we checked the cell phone data.

It's garbage. We can't use any of it.

So, look, either the shooter got lucky or...

I don't know, he coordinated it in some other way.

If Officer Gaines or other cops advised, they would know to avoid cells, obviously.

Yeah.

But you know what they'd use, Miller?

Walkie-talkies.

Miller, he bought into your theory?

That L.A.P.D. cops were involved?

Yeah. Yeah, he did.

For a night.

Today, the family of slain police officer, Kevin Gaines,

have retained attorney Johnnie Cochran

and filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the city of Los Angeles

for $25 million.

Kevin Gaines, shot and killed on March...

He hired that miserable fuck Johnnie Cochran.

...a former assistant district attorney,

has successfully brought multiple class action suits against the L.A.P.D.

I've never seen anything as charged as this.

But Miller had.

I saw clues that said our bad guys might be cops.

Miller only saw that we were White cops accusing Black cops.

He saw us heading straight for a nationally televised trial,

where Johnnie Cochran would ruin our careers

just like he did the O.J. detectives.

You like that?

You had the choice between all of these different cars,

and this is the car you're gonna choose?

I just wish I could get under the hood, you know what I mean?

Work on the engine.

Works. That's great.

Thank you.

Can I get the...?

Am I allowed to get the carne asada?

I mean, it's like four dollars more.

But I'm not going to get a side order, I'm--

You know what?

I would like to have the carne asada too.

Both of us. Thank you.

What do you think was going through Miller's mind?

Oh, uh... protecting his pension.

Everybody in L.A.P.D. knew that Gaines was dirty,

but as soon as Cochran was in his family's corner...

all I know is that Miller flew to New York without me.

And he came back saying

Biggie's entourage doesn't want to talk, and my cop theory's a dead end.

They wanted to sort of stall the case a bit

until they found a more... suitable suspect.

They were hoping for a gangbanger.

Yeah.

And that's what we got.

D-Mack.

I need access to my safety-deposit box.

Okay, you're just gonna have to fill out this.

Open the door, or you'll be the first to fucking die, okay?

Slowly. Slowly. Slowly.

Everybody get the fuck on the ground now!

Don't fucking look at me, you hear me?

Nobody fucking look at me! Get on the fucking ground!

Let's go, give me the fucking money right now! Let's go!

- Give me the money now! - Don't make a move!

Come on. Hurry up. Go!

Everybody stay the fuck down,

and everything's gonna be all right, all right?

That's what I'm fucking...

Here!

I'm Special Agent Dunton with the FBI.

Can I get a moment? Thanks.

A man that hits a woman isn't even a man.

He's an animal.

Smart, though.

Small bank like yours usually has 50,000 on hand.

But today you had 15 times that much.

I need to speak to whoever made that order.

It was you.

The holidays are coming up. You know, that's what we do.

- We-we do that. Yeah. - Sure-- No, no, no, no.

But I'll tell you the truth.

Who I really need to speak to...

is the person who had the keys to the vault.

I got nothing to say.

You're going to be very, very old when you get out of prison, young lady.

What if I can talk to him?

What if-- What if I can con-- Convince him

to give the money back, huh?

Then-then will I still be in trouble?

Who? Who are we talking about?

My boyfriend.

Give me his name.

♪ Selling crack in the system ♪

♪ When I was young Let me tell you how it was ♪

♪ Where I come from

♪ When I was young Let me tell you how it was ♪

♪ Where I come from

♪ When I was young Let me tell you how it was ♪

♪ Where I come from

♪ Run up, you get popped With a pop gun ♪

♪ I was selling rocks... ♪

Be advised there are some children playing...

Go, go, go!

David Mack, freeze!

Don't do it.

Put your gun on the ground.

I'm not going to ask you again.

Put the gun on the ground.

Nice and slow. Nice and slow.

Very good.

Turn around.

Bedroom's clear!

Get the fuck off me, bitch man motherfucker.

You know the fuck I know, Blood?

Hm?

Team two, team two, copy that.

How's your coffee?

Black and strong.

- Like your nigga. - Mm-hm. Yes.

Yes, my nigga. Officer Mack.

Or should I call you D-Mack?

Look, we know that bank robbery

is not your only extracurricular activity.

We found some interesting items in your house.

GECO 9mm bullets. That's rare.

A Death Row medallion.

Sweet Impala.

What else you up to?

Come on.

What kind of no-having-backbone nigga is you, huh?

Well, I'm not wearing cuffs, for a start.

You went to the University of Oregon.

I know you're educated, Mack.

But if you want to keep talking this thug thing,

because you think you're going to reach into my inner nigga

and rattle my sense of manhood,

you go right ahead.

Okay...

Special Agent.

So where do we start?

With Death Row.

I don't know.

If you don't talk to me,

if you don't tell me where the money is...

Fifteen years.

Fifteen...

years?

Mm-hm.

Oh, fuck.

Come on, nigga.

Nigga, that ain't shit, Blood.

Fifteen years?

Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit, nigga.

Fuck you think this is? I'm from the gutter, Blood.

See, that's Compton. You feel me?

I'm Piru, nigga. Mm-hm.

What the fuck you think 15 years gonna do to a nigga like me?

I know niggas doing life.

And I put them there.

Give me 20.

D-Mack and Kevin Gaines...

are both connected to Death Row.

Both surely involved in Biggie's shooting.

And both untouchable.

Why?

Because they're both L.A.P.D.

We can't let you test Mack's Impala for forensics.

It'll take me an hour. One hour.

It's bad timing, all right?

I mean, my fucking hands are tied.

The future earning potential of Christopher Wallace

would be over a billion.

So if we could prove a connection between

a cop and Biggie's murder,

then a lawsuit by the Wallace family

would not only break the L.A.P.D., it would--

It would bankrupt the city.

♪ Hoes in NY onto DKNY I

♪ All Philly hoes go with Moschino ♪

♪ Every cutie with a booty Bought a Coogi ♪

♪ Now who's the real dookie? ♪

♪ Meaning who's really the shit? ♪

♪ Them niggas ride dicks ♪

♪ Frank White push the sticks Or the Lexus ♪

♪ LX, four and a half Bulletproof glass tints ♪

♪ If I want some ass Going to blast, squeeze first ♪

There you go.

Oh, delish.

How many times you guys want to hear the same story?

We've had some developments in the case.

This was like last year and shit.

You know, a couple brothers get shot and nobody gives a fuck, do they?

But if Garth Brooks gets shot, y'all would declare martial law.

I just want to ask...

do you recognize this man?

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.

Hold the fuck up.

Yo, Biggie. Hey, Biggie.

♪ Staring at me ♪

♪ Breath is heavy ♪

♪ Headlight ♪

This motherfucker was at Petersen that night.

I saw him. He was, uh, security, you know?

Biggie's on the move. Biggie's on the move.

Yeah, he was the one on the walkie-talkie.

♪ Creeps inside I

Belsher. It's Jackson.

I need you to find Sergeant Mike Reese of the L.A.P.D.

Ask him to slip you the Christopher Wallace murder book.

You said murder book, as in uno.

Not 40 boxes of...

ninety murder books.

Here.

I'm done. All yours.

Kennedy said that every society gets the kind of criminal

that it deserves.

But news, that's something that somebody wants to suppress.

You remember Kelly Jamerson?

Yeah, what about him?

You know a lot of villains.

♪ Safe to drive ♪

He was one of the Rollin' 60s Crips

who attended a Death Row after-party.

Well, he starts throwing up gang signs, right?

So Suge's guys decided to beat him down a little.

But they beat him to death.

And this is the section of the Kelly Jamerson murder.

However...

he's not in here.

They redacted the entire incident.

He's not in here.

The security guards who stood by and watched a man being murdered

were off-duty L.A.P.D. officers.

You redact the Jamerson incident,

and you redact the proof that the L.A.P.D. has a history of its officers

work for Death Row.

- Where are you going? - I got something I got to follow through.

You can't just leave. I just brought up 90 boxes.

Hey, give me some grace on this, all right?

Grace?

Fuck does that mean?

Very indignantly, "I'm the Pope."

You're so full of shit, Edwards.

Excuse me, gentlemen.

Oh, no, I'm not here to talk to you.

Commander...

I wonder if you care to answer a couple of questions on the record?

Fasulo, this is Jackson.

Jackson, Fasulo.

I've seen the Wallace murder book.

Oh, Christ.

Why did you redact the past instances

of the L.A.P.D.'s connection with Death Row Records?

Look, I can't comment on an open investigation, okay?

- It's an open investigation? - Yeah.

Wow.

Do you have any suspects?

Jackson, I'm not gonna repeat myself.

I cannot comment on an open investigation. What's going on here?

Jackson's been spending a little bit of time with Poole.

Oh, Poole. This is the-- This is the guy. Okay. All right.

You know, you are as much an embarrassment to Edwards

as Poole was to the L.A.P.D.

Let me guess...

Kevin Gaines drove David Mack's Impala up the grassy knoll,

where they proceeded to both whack Kennedy.

Is that what you're going for here?

You find the unsolved murder of two young men funny?

No, not at all.

I find you, thinking that you're spending time with the man

who's going to solve this.

That's what I find funny.

Now you want something off the record, put that thing away.

- Go on, put it away. - Okay.

Turn it off, put it away and I'll tell you something.

All right, this is off the record.

I bet you Poole hasn't mentioned Wardell Fouse.

He was a Mob Piru Blood that Suge Knight paid to shoot Biggie.

Poole tell you that?

I'll track him down.

And bring along a shovel, because he was killed in 2003.

Now listen, Jackson, let me do you a solid here, okay.

Poole is certifiable.

He's a lunatic, all right?

And if he's giving you his Captain America routine,

and the stars and the stripes, and his badge on his sleeve,

ask him about his suspension.

The guy's a disgrace.

He's a pathological liar.

I mean, the Wallace's family civil case

was based upon his theory, and it was all tossed.

The man is a lonely shut-in,

and he needs a warm body like yourself to talk to.

So he'll say whatever you want to hear.

But reporting things that aren't true is your specialty.

Right, Jackson? And that's the end of the story.

I don't want to talk about it anymore.

And we're about to have dinner, so maybe you could...

- Thanks for your time. - All right.

Jesus, Mary and fucking Joseph, this is your employee?

Is he medicated? Is he a drunk?

Why did you let him sit down?

Yeah, come in.

Tell me about Wardell Fouse.

Fouse?

Oh, are you buying into that bullshit now?

His street name was Poochie.

He was the primary in the L.A.P.D.'s current theory.

- Fucking knew this shit? - I'm a detective.

A detective says, "I don't know until I can prove it."

You've been talking about this dirty cop and that dirty cop.

Well, what about you, Russ?

Never a mention about the cop who got suspended.

Let me tell you something.

You have no idea what the L.A.P.D. is capable of.

Stop. How am I supposed to trust a single word that comes out

- of your fucking mouth? - You look at these walls.

I earned everything here. Letters of commendation.

And that's why your son doesn't talk to you.

Because you care more about that than him.

How fucking dare you.

♪ OhJt

♪ To all the ladies in the place ♪

♪ With style and grace

♪ Allow me to lace These lyrical douches ♪

♪ In your bushes ♪

♪ Who rock grooves and make moves ♪

♪ With all the mommies ♪

♪ The back of the club sipping Moet ♪

♪ Is where you'll find me ♪

♪ The back of the club sipping Moet ♪

♪ Is where you'll find... ♪

♪ Straight up, honey really, I'm asking ♪

♪ Most of these niggas Think they be mackin' 7

♪ But they be acting ♪

♪ Who they attracting with that line? I

♪ What's your name? What's your sign? ♪

Roll down the window.

License and registration.

- What'd I do? - License and registration.

This is bullshit.

Sir, are you recording me right now on that phone?

- Sir... - How does that feel to you?

...turn off the phone.

I'm a journalist.

I have First Amendment rights.

And I ain't turning off shit.

Turn off that fucking phone, I said!

- Let's go. Out of the vehicle. - What the fuck, man.

- Now! - I ain't getting out nowhere.

Get out of the vehicle, now.

Nice and slow.

Out of the vehicle now!

- Everybody! - Turn around!

Everybody! They fucking with me!

- I ain't done shit! - Turn around. Turn around.

It's me.

I'm in the, uh...

L.A. Central.

Jack.

Jack.

I hate to tell you this,

but Edwards took you off the Biggie retrospective.

Thanks.

I need a word.

You commissioned a 20-year retrospective and I'm not on it?

Central claim has been discredited.

According to who?

The L.A.P.D.

Of course it was discredited by them.

They couldn't solve the case in the first goddamn place.

We are distancing ourselves from the story.

Detective Miller?

Who wants to know?

March 1997, you were the...

the lead detective on the Christopher Wallace case, right?

What are you, a lawyer? Or a cop?

Journalist.

Even worse.

I had one foot in retirement. I don't remember much.

Too many damn suspects.

Too many damn leads.

Was Amir Muhammed one of them?

What the...?

Amir Muhammed was a possible shooter, yeah.

But we never interviewed him.

Can I buy you a beer?

Everybody had a shooter. Everybody had a theory.

My partner asked onto the case at the time

because he had a theory.

Was he a-- Was he a good detective?

Was he a good partner?

Russell Poole.

One of the best.

Younger guy, but from an older school than even I was from.

Worked an honest shift.

Lacked nuance.

Followed orders to the point of insubordination.

Yeah, well, if the cops can be bending the rules,

then where does that leave the rest of us?

Christ, that sounds like something he would say.

Are you sure you haven't met him?

No.

You got to be able to separate yourself

from the community that you serve,

and Poole wasn't cut from that cloth.

You know what became of him?

No idea. They split us up.

There was a cop.

A dirty cop.

Oh, fuck, I can't remember his name.

Bank robber.

One theory was that his loyalty lied with Death Row,

and he was involved in Biggie's murder.

So the brass put Poole in charge of an STF looking into that.

Really?

They gave Poole a Special Task Force to look into David Mack?

That's the fuck's name. David-fucking-Mack.

Yes.

Thanks for your time.

Appreciate it.

Sure.

Hey, one more thing.

You know, something always struck me about that fuck David Mack.

The whole time he was in prison, he only got one visitor.

Amir Muhammed.

Strike!

Well, well.

Got a question for you.

Why does the L.A.P.D.

give a substandard officer his own Special Task Force?

You don't get to come here.

It's a free country.

Then do me a favor, root for the other team.

Substandard?

No, sir.

Naive?

Unfortunately.

All right, everybody, listen up.

This Task Force is changing direction.

Russ, we got a live one. We need you to shift focus.

We're on a live one right now, sir.

Let me see you for a second.

Drop the Death Row pursuit.

We got cocaine in evidence turns out to be Bisquick.

Same cop signed out every package.

Probably selling it in the street.

Looks like it's Frank Lyga.

You fucking shitting me, man?

I'm on unpaid leave, and you think I'm going to evidence control

to sign my name to six pounds of coke I intend to steal?

Come on, bro.

Did you believe him?

Yeah. Yeah, I did.

His incident with Gaines

drove a very strong racial wedge through the Force.

There's your duffel.

Did you not want to see my ID, or...?

I'm sure you ain't gonna rob the place.

Evidence Control was so lax

- it was like Detective Lyga...

...was the easiest target in the world

for anybody who wanted to frame him.

Detective... you left your evidence bag.

I have to get back to Disneyland.

What...?

I didn't know who to trust, so I went to the top.

- Chief. - Go away, Poole.

You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Sir, this department has bad elements.

Now, I can't tell you who killed Christopher Wallace,

because I've not been allowed to do my job properly.

Every time I turn a corner, I'm not allowed to look.

Why?

Because my suspects are cops.

We've all sworn the same oath

to uphold the law regardless of the circumstances.

I believe we owe that to Christopher Wallace,

to his mother and to his family.

Poole, you insubordinate shit.

I told you a hundred fucking times, you're off the Wallace case.

Off the Wallace case.

I went to the district attorney and...

I filed a complaint

against the L.A.P.D.

You ever love something so much, you know...

you try too hard...

hold on to it to make it work, to make it yours, to make it...

I don't know, it's just...

No.

It was a long time ago.

Long time.

Yeah, we need an ambulance on Fairfax and Wilshire.

Please, in Los Angeles.

We got a man shot. We have man shot.

- Wilshire Boulevard! - Okay, hold on.

Right on the corner of Wilshire and Fairfax.

Death Row had three cops in its inner circle.

Right here is a list of every cop who partnered with Mack.

- You investigate all of them? - I didn't have to,

‘cause there was only one stupid enough

to blow $25,000 in Vegas, with Mack, two days after the bank robbery.

Rafa Perez.

The department forced me to follow Lyga for stealing cocaine.

Guess who was actually stealing it?

Rafael Perez.

Why do I know that name?

Because I made him famous.

2-Adam-34, respond to a domestic dispute

at 4365 Whittier Boulevard.

A husband and wife fighting.

10-4, Central.

This is Officer Perez.

I've got some suspicious activity.

I'm at 1010 East Cesar E. Chavez Avenue. Standby.

What the fuck? How about turn that shit off.

What's up? You got my candy or what?

Yeah, I found another distributor.

Yeah, that's good for you, but you're not stiffing me on this, fool.

I'm not.

I'm going to get rid of you.

Shots fired! Shots fired! Officer fired upon.

- I need backup. - All units be advised,

Officer Perez fired with intent. I repeat, Officer Perez is the assailant.

Send an ambulance to this location right away.

All units standby.

We got 16-38 needs backup...

Officer Perez! Hands in the air!

The suspect in the shooting is a police officer...

Turn around slowly, to your left, until I tell you to stop.

What are you going to do?

You going to shoot me?

Are you wearing your vest?

Nah, you're too pink, motherfucker.

Get down! Chest on the ground!

- You shot me-- - Now!

Kick back your legs. Cross your legs.

Point your toes.

Cross those legs, point your toes.

I want those hands out.

- Hands out!

Sir, I've called an ambulance. It's on its way.

You're going to be fine.

Motherfucker! You mother...

- Shit. - Don't move!

Or I'll blow your fucking head off!

You're going to kill a cop? Huh?

- You're not an officer.

You are not a police officer.

What?

You my escort?

How's the knee?

What kind of cop leaves law enforcement to work for a gangster?

Law enforcement?

Ain't you got eyes, man?

There's no such thing as law.

There's never been one that can overcome man's nature.

There's incentive.

Men love two things: pussy and power.

And Suge...

he has both, and he gives them to men.

So he got the strongest thing there is, right?

Man's weakness.

And he knows something you don't.

Law enforcement is made up of cops.

And a cop ain't nothing but a man.

I'll take it from here, Detective.

Sir.

You want to be a gangster, son?

We are a matchstick away from bloodstained streets every day.

You know what stops it?

The uniform.

People believe in it.

But L.A.P.D. have put so many goddamn cracks in that belief

that people are starting to see

that the police can't even police their goddamn selves.

You will not be another crack in my force.

I believed in the uniform.

I believed in the oath we took:

"To protect and serve the people of Los Angeles.”

I joined the L.A.P.D., Rampart Division, in 1994.

As an officer, did you perpetrate illegal activities,

including robbery, drug dealings and murder?

Yes.

Were other L.A.P.D. officers involved?

Yes.

And I believe that every member of the department

shared those same convictions.

We did it all.

We were a criminal organization within the L.A.P.D.

We were a gang.

And what was the name of this gang?

I believed Perez was going to confess his part

in the L.A.P.D.'s corruption

by saying just two words: Death Row.

- Rampart.

But I was wrong.

Let's reconvene in one hour.

So you're saying Rampart, the greatest scandal in L.A.P.D. history,

which implicated 70 cops of corruption, was a diversion?

Mr. Ovando, I...

I want to apologize for what I've done.

I'm sorry.

Yeah, it was bullshit, and it eclipsed everything.

Especially the Christopher Wallace investigation.

Officer Gaines was linked to the Wallace murder

and to Death Row, but I was told not to look.

Officer Perez and Officer Mack were linked to Death Row.

Once again, I was told not to look.

But I had an ace up my sleeve.

The Gaines' family were suing Lyga and the department,

and I was the chief witness for the defense of Detective Lyga.

Gaines was a member of the Rampart Division.

He was also an associate

of incarcerated officers David Mack and Rafa Perez.

It's my belief that these officers are responsible for the planning,

cover-up and the execution of Christopher Wallace.

Well, that's some very explosive stuff, Detective.

A murder like that only goes unsolved if the police don't want to solve it.

I can't bring that out.

But remember, if Cochran gives you an opening when you're on the stand,

you can go there.

We were ready for our day in court.

The theory that L.A.P.D. cops

helped orchestrate the murder of Christopher Wallace...

...would become part of the public record.

But they never let it go to trial.

You cut a deal?

My own team cuts a deal?

You're a puppet.

I wanted to go in there...

because this is my life!

Jack, it's 5:00 a.m. Clerk wants us out by 6:00.

What the fuck are we doing, man?

Now you found something?

Eyewitnesses notice a black Sedan.

Most of the witnesses think it was a Chevy Impala SS.

What are we looking at? I don't get it.

I do.

Okay, great. Are we done?

Yeah.

We're talking about truth.

And I've seen so many untruths

among these so-called officials.

My mother taught me something about truth.

It's a poem.

She said, "Speak the truth and speak it ever,

because he who hides the wrong he did

does the wrong thing still."

Hey, Jack.

Miss Wallace, this is...

Jack, this is Miss Wallace.

Hello.

I-I-I know who you are, ma'am.

Twenty years ago, I...

I made a false claim against your son.

And?

I was mistaken.

Well, it takes a big man to admit that he makes a mistake.

You're a very kind woman. Would you mind...?

- Please. - Jack, have a seat.

He's been very helpful.

- With the case? - Yes.

I-1 didn't think that you guys would be on good terms.

- I mean... - And why is that?

Well, I mean...

You know, your family's case, and using his theory...

to support it, and then it being dismissed.

Oh, no, the case was not dismissed.

It was a mistrial.

Huge difference.

A Federal Judge caught the L.A.P.D.

hiding the evidence that linked Mack and Perez

to Christopher's murder and declared a mistrial.

Now, here's the kicker.

The city of L.A., they reopened the investigation,

because as long as it's an ongoing investigation...

that evidence stays locked away in the dark.

So we cannot sue L.A.P.D., because they are investigating the case.

I-I might have something here.

It's a search warrant...

for Mack's Impala.

They filed it after you resigned.

You know, they push you out of the force, saying that your theory has no merit,

and then they use your theory, his theory, to go forward.

Miss Wallace, this has...

been an unbearably long and painful road for you.

I'm so sorry that you've had to endure all this.

You have nothing to feel sorry about.

Because of you...

I came this far.

Hands behind your head!

That is what you call a guy who was in the wrong place

at the wrong time.

Stop resisting!

Our life is meaningless to you.

You have the right to kill us based on your theory,

your perception, and why?

Because I'm a young Black man.

Put out your hands!

- Don't resist.

You hear that, motherfucker? You hear that?

The sound of sirens used to mean

my brother officers were on their way to assist me.

Might have been the sweetest sound I ever heard in my life.

I was two weeks from my pension when I resigned.

I lost my family...

for a case...

that I was unable to close.

And...

it's just not supposed to happen like that.

We're in the top of the ninth.

- Bases are loaded. - Come on, Russ!

A crafty lefty on the mound.

Let's see what we got. Here's the first pitch.

- And dribbler to third base.

He guns him out at first.

And we got two down.

Bases still loaded.

And there's a shot in deep left field.

It's going back, back, back...

Russ, pick up the phone. Pick up the phone.

I was a beat cop when you were here.

Always looked up to you, Detective Poole.

Thank you.

Russ, if you're really going in, I'm gonna go in with you.

We'll go in together, all right? Just call me back or text me.

We still all talk about you, sir.

And all the time here.

I'm afraid I can't help you, sir.

Please don't misunderstand.

Sir, these warrants, they're-- They're 20 years old, sir.

Detective Poole?

Detective Poole?

Are you all right, sir? Can I get you something?

Detective Poole! Christ. Call an ambulance!

Detective Poole?

Detective Poole? Can you hear me?

Stay with me, sir.

- Stay with me, Russ. - Mr. Poole, can you hear me?

- We got no pulse. - He's going to crash.

Hey, Russ?

- Anybody see him go down? - Russ?

- What happened to him? - All of a sudden.

He's crashing.

Heart attack, we think.

Russell Poole.

I'm Jack.

A friend of Russ's.

You listen to me.

You don't have the right. You don't have the right.

You know what I'm saying.

You close a case, get a promotion, get the shiny object.

But then you start thinking that you are the shiny object.

Come on down from the cheap seats,

look them in the eye.

Tell them.

I'm sorry.

Take some pretty good shots at each other, don't we?

I'm done.

I'm a hack.

All right?

I'm a hack who forgot how to even do the right thing.

So I know what the wrong thing is.

Stay on this case.

Make your boy think that that's all that you care about.

Then what was it all for?

What was it all for?

Front page, L.A. Times.

That was one of the best pieces I've ever read.

- I know. It was good, wasn't it? - Mm-hm.

I got to say, Jack, I'm proud of you.

I'm working on a new nightly segment.

We're going to need a recognizable face.

I can't work for a man who's in bed with the very institutions

that we should hold accountable.

We have to do better.

Will you accept my resignation?

♪ Uh, I dream filthy ♪

♪ My moms and pops mixed me With Jamaican rum and whiskey ♪

♪ What a set off ♪

♪ Should have pushed them dead off ♪

♪ Wipe the sweat off ♪

♪ ‘Cause in this world I'm dead off ♪

♪ Squeeze lead off Benz sped off ♪

♪ That's not all MC's have the gall ♪

♪ To pray and pray for my downfall ♪

♪ Pray and pray for my downfall Pray and pray for my downfall ♪

♪ I was high when they hit me ♪

♪ Took a few cats with me Shit, I need the company ♪

♪ Apologies in order To T'Yanna my daughter ♪

♪ If it was up to me You would be with me ♪

♪ Sorta like daddy dearest My vision be the clearest ♪

♪ Silencers so you can't hear it ♪

♪ Competition still fear it ♪

♪ Shit, don't ask me I went from ashy to nasty ♪

♪ To classy, and still I

'Pac is a strong dude, yo.

I know dudes, you know what I'm saying?

He real strong, so when they was, like, "He got shot,"

I was just more like "Again?"

You know what I'm saying?

He always getting shot or shot at.

He gonna pull through this one again,

make a few records about it, and it's gonna be over.

You know what I'm saying?

But when he died I was just like, "Whoa."

Even though we was going through our drama,

I would never wish death on nobody,

because there ain't no coming back from that.

♪ This goes out to you ♪

♪ This goes out to you ♪

♪ This goes out to you ♪

♪ You, you ♪

♪ Your reign on the top Was short like leprechauns ♪

♪ As I crush so-called willies Thugs, and rapper dons ♪

♪ Get in that ass Quick fast like Ramadan ♪

♪ It's that rap phenomenon

♪ Don-dadda, fuck poppa ♪

♪ You got to call me Francis M.H. ♪

♪ White, intake light tokes tote iron

♪ Was told in shootouts Stay low and keep firing ♪

♪ Keep extra clips for extra shit ♪

♪ Who's next to flip on that sack ♪

♪ With that grip on rap ♪

♪ The mo' shady Frankie baby ♪

♪ Ain't no telling where I may be I

♪ May see me in D.C. At Howard homecoming ♪

♪ With my man Capone Dumb and fucking something

♪ You should know my steel-o ♪

♪ Went from ten G's For blow to thirty G's a show ♪

♪ To orgies with hoes I never seen befo' ♪

♪ So, Jesus Get off the Notorious' penis ♪

♪ Before I squeeze and bust ♪

♪ If the beef between us ♪

♪ We can settle it with The chrome and metal shit

♪ I make it hot like a kettle get

♪ You're delicate you better get-- ♪

♪ Who sent you? You still pedal shit ♪

♪ I got more rides than Great Adventure ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪

♪ On your mark, get set When I spark, you wet ♪

♪ Look how dark it get When you're marked for death I

♪ Should I start your breath Or should I let you die? ♪

♪ In fear you start to cry ask why I

♪ Lyrically, I'm worshiped Don't front, the word sick ♪

♪ You cursed it but rehearsed it ♪

♪ I drop unexpectedly Like bird shit

♪ You herbs get stuck quickly For royalties and show money ♪

♪ Don't forget the publishing I punish ‘em ♪

♪ I'm done with them ♪

♪ Son, I'm surprised you run with them ♪

♪ I think they got cum in them ♪

♪ ‘Cause they nothing but dicks ♪

♪ Trying to blow up like nitro And dynamite sticks ♪

♪ Mad I smoke hydro Rock diamonds, that's sick ♪

♪ Got paid off my flow Rhyme with my own clique ♪

♪ Take trips to Cairo Laying with your bitch ♪

♪ I know you praying you was rich ♪

♪ Fucking prick when I see you I'mma... ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪

♪ Kick in the door waving the four-four ♪

♪ All you heard was "Poppa, don't hit me no more” ♪