All language subtitles for Bosch.S06E01.1080p.WEB.H264-iNSiDiOUS

Last season on Bosch...

Any airport
out there reading this,

this is
Detective Harry Bosch, LAPD.

- Time to jump, cop.
- In-air incident.

One passenger dead.

One missing.

I am inbound
to Whiteman Airport. Out.

Did you kill someone?

I did. They
were trying to kill me.

How many people have you killed?

Why the hell would you ask
a question like that?

His name is Gary Wise.

He was my C.I.

- This is not your fault, I.
- It feels like it.

What happened?

I think someone saw
him talking to Marcos and Arias.

Thing is...

I put 'em together.

Did you work
the Skyler murder case?

Somebody in my office said
they're investigating it.

No basis for it. It's bullshit.

I've never planted evidence.
Never.

I believe you.

Clear, right? Wait!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Crate and Barrel.

This is the perfect opportunity
to clear out the dead wood.

- We can't force 'em to retire.
- No, but we can move them.

Where?

CAPs. Fucking CAPs.
Jumped on cases.

Bunch of "he said, she said."

No. Fuck that!

I'll eat my gun first!

Charlie Hovan.

You under?

14 months.

- What's all the blue?
- Districts where you're leading

in our preliminary polling.

You are aware police chiefs
have not had much success

as mayoral candidates.

- Somebody's juking the stats.
- I'll look into it.

- You really think it's gonna come to that?
- What?

Blowing the whistle.

I got a text this morning from
someone in the D.A.'s office.

Who's your source?

Now, you know
I can't tell you that.

The matter before the court
is withdrawn.

Detective Bosch, I wish you
the best of luck, sir.

And you're welcome
in my courtroom anytime.

Thank you, Your Honor.

Maybe Maddie could come intern

with me, see how
the other half lives.

I know what you did.

What's going on?
Boyfriend trouble?

- 'Cause I noticed a little tension.
- It's not him.

It's you.

Me?

- What'd I do?
- Nothing.

- You're just you.
- Something curious

came up when we searched
Gary Wise's apartment.

We found
a Smith & Wesson nine mil,

confiscated in a drug bust.

- How'd it get back on the streets?
- Mm. Good question.

It's got to be an inside job.

What did Gary have to do
with these people?

Why'd they kill my son?

Your source... what's his name?

Jacques Avril.

Runs a chain of 7-Elevens
in the South Bay.

- Does it ring a bell or...?
- Ki sa?

- Are you who I think you are?
- And who is that?

Jacques Avril,
the Butcher of Petionville,

who murdered
my mother's brother?

What was his name?

Antoine Hector.

Wasn't me.

That was my father.

Stolen weapons
had to be an inside job.

Whoever did it,
they're worried about exposure.

- Dirty cops.
- Looks like.

Who?

I cut my teeth

trolling the streets
of this great city.

A cop is who I am,
who I always will be.

But I stand before you today

to announce
that I am exploring a run

for mayor of Los Angeles.

- You think you can save me.
- You all right?

Don't talk to me. Fuck off.

You think you're the only one
that's ever tried.

She O.D.'d! Call 911!

I clocked the
"rest in peace" tattoo.

Who's Daisy?

It's her daughter.

She was murdered.

About ten years ago. She was 14.

I'd get fucked up.

She'd get bored, run off.

Then one day,

she went off and, uh,
didn't come back.

Police found her body.

But not her killer.

Alicia?

Pop the trunk.

Where is it?

Close by. Close by.

As soon as you let her go.

Fuck that.

I have to know she's safe.

Don't. Don't, don't, please.

Y-You need me!

Hey. You're here early.

Thought I'd get a jump
on the day.

Daisy Clayton?

Yup.

How many times you been through
those friggin' cards?

One more can't hurt.

Any news?

Not so far.

If you can bear
to tear yourself away

from the distant dusty past,
I have a live one for you.

Thought Vega and Pierce were up.

They are and they are on it,
but they have

a "be there" subpoena
on their body parts case.

Billet says you and Edgar
need to take the lead.

- Okay.
- All right.

Where the fuck are these mooks?

You got some place to be?

Harry.

We caught a case.

I thought Pierce and Vega
were up.

Uh, they may have court later.

Text me the address.

See you when you get there.

- You got to go?
- In a minute.

Bosch.

Remind you of anything?

The Overlook.

Remember her name?

The actress? No.

Linda Foster.

Tell me what you got so far.

Jogger called it in
a couple hours ago.

Dr. Stanley Kent. 42.

Married to Alicia Kent,
same address.

- Recovered his phone, too.
- Good luck with that,

unless his wife
knows his passcode.

My wife knows mine.

Your wife knows your password?

Absolutely.
Your husband know yours?

- Seriously?
- Crunch it anyway.

The Porsche?

Registered to a business.

K and K Medical Physicists.

What's a medical physicist?

Something heavy made these.

Hey, big dog.

Hey, Harry.

Still working the time of death.

Ballpark?

Eh...

midnight-ish, give or take.

Plastic rings?

No idea.

Like something you'd find
in a box of Cracker Jacks.

I'll circle back with you
on time of death.

Yep.

Shot twice,
in the back of the head.

Fell forward, face first.

Abrasions, cheek, forehead.

No exit wounds.

Small caliber.

Forced to his knees,
execution-style.

You guys do an emergency
welfare check on the wife?

Not yet.

What's that, Potts, I.D. tag?

St. Agatha's. Flip it over.

Swipe card.

Okay, thanks, Potts.

Go to St. Ag's.

If Kent had an office there,
lock it down.

Get a search warrant
for everything:

Phone, e-mail, swipe card,

- the whole nine.
- What about the wife?

I got it.

Hands up!

Turn around. Turn around.

Knees!

All right.

There you go. There you go.

No tefucking muevas.

Put your hands out.
There you go.

There you go. There you go.

All right.

Turn them around.

There it is.

Hold these.

Stand up. Stand up.

Oh. Oh, what do we got here?

What do we got here? Oh.

- You fucking piece of fucking shit.
- Mm.

If they don't book
the guns and cash, we got 'em.

Dollars to doughnuts they don't.

Why is Marcos staring at us?

He's a paranoid motherfucker.

He feels us.

The hairs on the back
of his chest are standing up.

You're paranoid.

Clear?

Go now.

- Ron.
- Hey.

- Good to see you.
- I think you know these guys.

Indeed I do.

LAPD's finest. Sorely missed.

Malarkey.

Respectfully.

- Detective Rodgers.
- Chief.

- Keeping busy?
- Writing my memoirs.

- Detective Jackson.
- Chief.

- I trust I have your vote.
- Well, if I still lived in L.A.

I forgot.

So how's life
in, uh, Walnut Creek?

Well, nothing so swank.

Petaluma.

Your checks
are still good in L.A.

Grassroots fundraising.

No contributions
over a hundred bucks.

And I was gonna spring
for a grand.

IrvingForMayor.com.
All one word.

Well, I'll let you all get back
to your flapjacks.

Someone I really
want you to meet.

Ray Thacker.

Chief Irving.

- Jen.
- Mr. Thacker.

What a pleasure.

Please, join me.

I can't believe we've never met.

Ray worked on
Mayor Ramos's campaigns.

- Both of them.
- Set records.

I'd like to do the same for you.

I'm not sure
that's really necessary.

We're doing fine with
our small donors approach.

Chief, you've spent
your professional life

in a system where rank and
promotion are achieved by merit.

Well, mostly merit.
More or less.

This is a new world for you.

The best man doesn't always win.

At the end of the day,
this is about money.

Ray can raise the dollars
you need to become mayor.

I'm feeling
a little bushwhacked here.

Jack Killoran's

- about to jump into the race.
- Killoran?

The car dealer?

He's white and self-funded,

and he is gonna hurt you
in the Valley.

Susanna Lopez
has East L.A. sewn up,

and the two of you
split the south side.

Whoever takes the liberal
Westside takes it all.

And both have deeper pockets.

And lighter complexions.

That's the reality.

LAPD. Anyone home?

Mrs. Kent?

Door. Open door, open door.

LAPD. Anyone home?

Clear.

- Clear.
- Clear.

Clear.

Clear.

Mrs. Kent,
I'm Detective Harry Bosch, LAPD.

You're safe.

I got you.

I got you. I got you.

Stay still. Stay still.

Where's my husband?

I got you. I got you.

Where is he?

You all right?

Easy, easy, easy.
Here. Sit down.

I'm just dizzy. It's okay.

Okay, okay. What do you need?

I need...

my robe, in the closet.

Here.

Please, tell me...

is my husband okay?

You need to hire him
before somebody else does.

I'll think about it.

Don't think too long.

That's it.

There was a car in the drive.

I thought it was Stan.

These two men
pushed their way in.

Can you describe them?

I couldn't see their faces.

They were wearing
ski masks and gloves.

I thought they were gonna
rape me, kill me.

They...

dragged me by my hair
into the bathroom.

They put a knife to my neck,

said that they were...
were gonna cut my throat

if I didn't give them
what they wanted.

Which was?

Keys to my car
and password to my cell phone.

I... blanked.

I couldn't remember
the fucking passcode.

One of them slapped me hard,

and I gave them the code
and they tied me up.

The way they talked...
Black, white, Latino?

- Could you tell?
- Yeah, one was definitely white.

He had a, um,
tattoo on his wrist,

mm, a number.

308.

After they tied you up?

They took a picture of me
with my cell phone

and they sent it to Stan.

And then they left.

- Is this your phone?
- Where did you find it?

In the garage.

Can I have it back, please?

It-It's evidence. We'll get it
back to you as soon as we can.

Okay.

Did they ever say
what they wanted?

No.

I assume money.

What does your husband do?

He's a medical physicist.

He handles...

handled

radioactive material
for cancer treatment.

Cesium and iridium.

This stuff, is it valuable?

No. It's dangerous.

It's extremely toxic.

If it gets
in the wrong hands, it...

You think that's
what they're after?

I'm gonna show you something.

Yeah, those are radiation rings,
used to read radiation exposure.

Those are Stan's hands.

Oh, my God.

Where'd he go?

Nuclear Med Lab.

- No CCTV?
- No.

Let me fast-forward.

What's that he's rolling?

A pig.

Lead container for transporting
radioactive materials.

Show us the lab.

- Hmm.
- What?

Odd hour to be
accessing this material.

And hardly anyone
uses cesium anymore.

It's old-school.

Gone.

The whole inventory's gone.

The log says he only took one.

Note says he took 32.

What time he empty the safe?

Uh, 10:38 last night.

Feds have landed.

Should be coming
your way any minute.

Voila. Just walked in.

Check back later.

Gentlemen. Jack Brenner.

FBI, Special Agent in Charge.

Agents Maxwell, Reece.

You must be Bosch and Edgar.

Your lieutenant told us
where to find you.

We just came from
the crime scene.

That was fast.

- Stanley Kent's on a watch list.
- Tell us what you know so far.

According to Mrs. Kent,

two men invaded their house last
night, held her at knifepoint.

Dr. Kent got a demand text
from his wife's phone,

picture of her bound and gagged.

What was the demand?

"Get us cesium or else,"
which he did.

32 tubes from the Nuclear
Medicine Lab at St. Ag's.

- Any sign of the cesium?
- No.

But there are marks
in the trunk of Kent's car

consistent with
a heavy container.

We sent a HRT team
to the crime scene,

- see if they can pick up the scent.
- You can track it?

We can't detect it as long as
the cesium's in the pig, but...

- if they were to take it out and use it...
- Use it how?

As a weapon.

Released in
the right environment,

catastrophic, mass casualties.

LAX, City Hall, Dodger Stadium...

Unusable for 300 years.

Jesus.

What did Mrs. Kent say
about her assailants?

Not much. No faces.
Masks and gloves.

White, by the way they talk.

I need to see that demand text.

Interview Mrs. Kent
as soon as she's up for it,

send a full forensics team
to the crime scene,

- and get me an update from St. Agatha's.
- Done.

And set a powwow for LAPD Major
Crimes and Hollywood Homicide.

This you bigfooting my case

in the name
of national security?

I hope to continue
our cooperation, Detective.

- I work my murder.
- And we want you to.

Just so we're clear,
you share what you find.

Just so we're clear,
goes both ways.

- We'll keep you in the loop.
- Okay.

I hear you're
a capable detective.

I do my job.

You have a checkered history
with the FBI.

Yeah, well...
you know the circumstances.

We cut you some slack.

I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Think they know
about the tattoo?

They will after they talk
to Mrs. Kent.

308. That could be anything.

Area code. Time of day.

Batting average.

"Do what we say."

"All the cesium. No cops."

What will they do with it?

Hold the city hostage.

Make 32 IEDs.

Contaminate the water supply.

Build a dirty bomb.
Sky's the limit.

Well, I set up a meeting
with MCD

and the special agent in charge.

Yeah, Brenner.
Promised to keep us in the loop.

We all know what that's worth.

They're gonna shroom us.

Keep us in the dark

and feed us shit.

Work your murder.

I intend to.

What a fucking shitstorm.

I have a pro
bono case I want you to work on.

It's an erroneous
conviction claim.

We're filing an application with
the Victims Compensation Fund.

Our client's the victim?

Wrongfully convicted of murder.

Ten years in prison.

Thanks to DNA, now a free man.

And entitled to compensation
for time served.

What do you want me to do?

Read and summarize
the trial testimony.

I can do that.

It's a lot of material.

Be diligent.

Take your time.

Understood.

How much is he entitled to?

That's set by state statute.

$140 for every day of
wrongful incarceration.

Ten years.

3,650 times 140...

It's a little over
half a million dollars.

That doesn't seem like much.

It's not.

It's a start.

Bosch reports to me directly.

I will make sure that
he keeps you informed, Chief.

No voice mail, no messages.
Me, personally.

On an up-to-the-minute basis,
Lieutenant.

Are we clear?

Yes, sir.

- Double-shot?
- Triple.

You're a lifesaver.

Eight hours to go
and I'm already fading.

This nine-year-old kid
came in with a skull fracture.

He gonna make it?

Absolutely.

I don't know
how you do what you do.

Uh, how's your work?

Guess who got a new assignment.

- Something interesting, I hope.
- No.

Same old, same old.
Murder, prison.

Wrongful conviction,
DNA exoneration, major lawsuit.

- Boring.
- Yeah.

Can you sneak away for a bite?

Things are really crazy.

I mean, everyone's on call.

- What's going on?
- I don't know.

Ebola? Measles? Typhoid fever?

Who knows?

My friend at Cedars texted me;
It's the same deal.

Marcos and Arias
booked the guns.

Cash, too. Every buck.

Shit.

Maybe you're right.

Maybe they are onto us.

We're this close.

Have a drink.

I got a case.

Hey. How was dinner?

Dinner was a triple-shot latte.

He couldn't get away.

Nine-year-old kid
with a fractured skull.

Accident?

- Probably not.
- Tough job he's got.

Pediatric nurse?
You couldn't pay me enough.

Not that he could've
had dinner, anyway.

Hospital's got everyone on call.

Other hospitals, too.

- How come?
- I don't know.

Antonio thinks
something's going on.

Some kind of outbreak.

Jesus. Hope not.

Going somewhere?

New case. All hands on deck.

Just came home
to shower and change.

Don't know when I'll be back.

Stay in touch.

Promise.

Feed Coltrane for me?

I know the drill.

Part of your case?

I don't know. Maybe.

Night.

Night.

Jerry.

Look at this.

I ran "308" as a tattoo
through CalGang.

Russ Aborn. Van Nuys.

Sovereign citizen.

Folsom. Serving three-to-five
for bribery

and filing false documents.

308?

Some so-called
sovereign citizens believe

invoking Section 308 of the UCC

exempts them from local,
state and federal law.

That's a lot of exemption.

Anything that's not
English common law, they reject.

They're exempt.

- Taxes?
- Taxes.

Business contracts.

Property deeds.

They make their own
license plates,

print their own currency

and occupy
other people's property.

Look at this.

"No driver's
license or insurance required."

I dig that.
No standing in line at the DMV.

Murder. What about murder?

- These guys exempt from murder?
- Murder's covered by common law.

So, homeboys still
on the hook for this.

Oh, yeah.

So, Major Crimes will liaise

with the Bureau
and Hollywood Homicide.

Yes, sir.

And in the interest
of preventing

a full-blown citywide panic,

let's try to keep a lid on
this bubbling cauldron of shit

as long as we can.

Sir.

Mrs. Kent all right?

Must be a terrible shock.

You notice anything unusual
that night?

As a matter of fact,
I walked the dog late.

- Around the block.
- What time was this?

Midnight.

There was a car
parked around the corner.

Uh, some kind of black sedan.

Odd license plate.

- Odd how?
- Didn't look real.

Sort of homemade,
like paper or cardboard.

Was it a new car?

The DMV issues temp plates
made out of paper.

- Didn't look like a new car.
- Did you get a number?

No number, just a bunch
of slashes and dashes.

Fake plates. Tattoo.

- Sovereigns, for sure.
- So it would seem.

Look who's here.

Detectives.

Brings you here?

Canvassing the neighborhood.

You said Kent was
on a watch list.

We monitored his use of
radioactive material.

We met with him, made sure, uh,
he was following protocols.

Kent in particular?

Doctors like Kent.

He ever receive threats?

It's a threat-laden environment,
Detective.

- Let's leave it at that.
- Eh, so, we'd like to circle back,

have a follow-up conversation
with Mrs. Kent.

It's not possible at the moment.

Why not?

She's not here.

We put her in a safe house
for the time being.

So much for keeping us
in the loop.

- Hey, Bosch?
- Yeah.

Uh...

I just wanted to say
I-I knew Eleanor Wish.

I worked with her.

She was a class act.

That she was.

What were you and Bosch
talking about yesterday?

- At the scene.
- The Overlook.

Beautiful morning,
day like yesterday.

I was the first on the scene.

Female, 20s, in her car.

GSW to the heart.

Bosch rolls up.
First thing he does?

Moves the body.

No way.

First thing they teach you:

Don't touch the body
till the coroner comes.

Right?

Then he reaches under the seat,
finds a gun.

Suicide.

Shot herself in the heart.

Bosch just knew.
Uh, he had a hunch.

Solved it on the spot.

- There you are.
- Lieutenant.

- You off to court?
- Yeah.

Oh. Pierce.

- What?
- Your collar.

God, men.

Used to have to do this
with my ex-husband.

There, you clean up good.

- And you, too.
- Thank you.

Listen, you did great work.

Both of you.

I mean, no hunches,
just good solid police work.

All right?

Give 'em hell.

I promise never to do that.

- What?
- Fix your fucking collar.

You're her favorite.

- Fuck off.
- Seriously.

- Seriously. Fuck off.
- Mm.

The woman has boundary issues.

- She does that to everyone.
- Doesn't bother you?

- Not particularly.
- Ah, she's so touchy-feely.

- It bugs me.
- Who is?

My cousin, sir.

Can't keep her hands to herself.

Ah.

Good luck in court this week.

Thank you, sir.

That's disappointing.

You sure?

Better safe than sorry.

You sound like
my grandmother, you know.

"A stitch in time save nine."

How long?

Long as it takes.

When things cool off.

Might have to go somewhere else
in the interim.

Understandable.

What's our exposure?

Zero.

Zero is a number
I don't believe.

Zero. Guaranteed.

Zero don't exist.

You make it clear to him.

We pay him well,
and that's the deal.

- I will not be beholden.
- Of course not.

Not to him,
not to the donors he brings in.

- That has to be understood from the get-go.
- Ray knows that.

A donation, large or small,
doesn't buy access,

and it doesn't buy me.

Goes without saying.

I'm saying it, loud and clear.

It's an investment
in the future.

Of this city.

This is Bosch. Leave a message.

Where?

On it.

A jumped on?

- Sunset and Las Palmas.
- Wow.

- That's an ominous corner.
- Mm-hmm.

You think, uh...?

- Teddy Hobbs?
- Yeah.

Ha. I'd bet on that.

So would I.

Chief.

Chief.

Why the fuck
haven't I heard from Bosch?

Um...

They call themselves
the Three Oh Eight Squadron.

We're talking a small cell,
less than a dozen.

Couple of families, basically.

Social media?

They've upped
their game recently.

More than just talk?

No overt violence yet.

But real-world provocations
by local sovereigns

are on the rise.

Especially confrontations
with cops.

Traffic stops,
station invasions.

One of those in the Valley
last month. Van Nuys.

Three Oh Eights were involved
in that incident.

So where can we find these guys?

They appear in public
if they're not hassling cops?

They pass out literature,
hawk their ideology.

- Recruit.
- Exactly.

Pancake breakfasts, barbecues.

Where do I start?

Hi-yo, baby.

All right,
don't forget Riverside.

That all right with you, Craver?

Or is it a little
out of your comfort zone?

Whatever you say, Heather.
I'm down with it.

Haven't seen you here before.

Ah, a buddy said I might find
some, uh, kindred spirits here.

Yeah. You well might.

I'll check it out.

What's your name?

My friends call me Barrel.

I know a fence-sitter
when I see one.

Time is coming, brother.

Have to choose sides.

Sovereign citizens?

Am I in the right place?

How'd you hear about
this little get-together?

Russ Aborn.

Is that right? How is old Russ?

- Not so good.
- Yeah. Corcoran's a tough place.

Folsom. He's stuck
in Folsom prison.

And time keeps dragging on.

Russ has a tattoo.

Three Oh Eight.
That's who I'm looking for.

The Three Oh Eights.

Ugh, what?

Are you a cop?

You carry yourself like a cop.

What if I am?

Are you?

That's how me and Russ met.
I wrote him up for a fake plate.

Fuck you.

It's all right. We got cops.

So I hear.

Let me see some I.D.

Fuck you.

I wipe my ass with that shit.

Free man don't need
no government-issue I.D.

Are you a drinking man?

Of course.

There's a tavern
out in Canoga Park.

Bartender has
a very, very heavy pour.

I'll check it out.

Hey, hey. Thanks, brother.

How was the Q?

How bad could it be?

- Later, gator.
- Later.

If this goes sideways
in any way, I'm done.

Great leaders are
forged in crisis.

Sorry. I-I know
that sounded self-serving.

Of course I'm concerned
for the citizens

of this city above all else.

I know that.

And they do, too.

You sure you won't join me?
God knows we deserve it.

I can't.

Why not?

I'm pregnant.

I'm, uh...

surprised.

So am I.

Guess nothing's foolproof.

Besides surprised?

I don't know.

Jun, I'm old enough to be
his or her grandfather.

- Who cares?
- He or she might.

He won't.

He?

He.

It's a lot to process.

Sorry, I don't...
I don't mean to ambush you.

Baby, you need
to get out of town.

Don't be silly.

No, just for a few days,
till this thing blows over.

I suppose I could call
my aunt in Oakland.

Then do that. Call her.

Where the fuck have you been?

- Took you long enough.
- Count was off.

Let's get the fuck out of here.

Fucking knucklehead.

Oh, hang on.

The Two Jakes.

What's up, bruh?

What's up?

Now it's zero.

It's mine.

Hello?

On my way.

You got to go?

You do, too.

What?

Bennett.

It's ours now.

Whatever you need from I.A.

- Witnesses?
- Dozens.

And ain't none of them talking.

Sorry.

All hell's breaking loose.
I have to get to the scene.

These two detectives, um...
did you know them?

I. Edgar mentioned them.

Under investigation?

Yeah, too soon to tell if this
had anything to do with that.

I won't keep you.

- So you have a lead on the cesium?
- Possibly.

A group of sovereign citizens,

call themselves
the Three Oh Eights.

Are the Feds on them yet?

We have to assume,
but you know how that goes.

Feds.

I'll get you as much
information as I can.

Keep working it.

Bosch.

Let me hear from you.

Will do.