Original subtitles

Subtitles by explosiveskull

(haunting electronic tones)

(helicopter hums)

(midtempo jazz music)

[Dispatcher] Attention all units

in the vicinity of 16th and Valencia.

Fire raging out of control at the Golden Bay Hotel.

Fire Captain requesting assistance.

(sirens blare) (horns honk)

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

Fire Captain requesting assistance.

(horn blares)

(rain patters)

(engine hums)

(apple crunches)

(thunder rumbles)

(apple crunches)

What happened, big guy?

He died of smoke inhalation.

You got any names?

No.

You got some more in the corner.

Jesus Christ.

(ominous music)

We ran outta gurneys.

(Bob coughs)

[Bob] Nobody even knew these poor bastards.

I could see the process starting already.

Immigration, tracking clues.

Find hometowns, arrange for transportation of bodies.

These guys were human sacrifices.

But to what god?

I needed to see them.

See the corpses so the rage would keep me going.

This would be tricky.

Nothing was as it appeared.

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

He was a tall Tongan bastard.

(footsteps click)

(Bob coughs)

(midtempo electronic music)

(helicopter hums)

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

just as I was getting ready to leave work.

- Bob? - Yeah?

I need to meet with you first thing Monday.

You'll have all weekend to figure out

what really happened at the Golden Bay Hotel.

I don't think we wanna drag ourselves

into something politically, sir.

Listen, Bob.

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

which cases you work on.

I cited that hotel three times

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

rats, infestations, garbage.

Had there been a fire hazard,

God himself could not have stopped me

from citing that landlord and making him fix it

that goddamned day.

Do you know Bob?

I really don't care.

Mr. Choy.

All I know is your job is on the line.

On Monday, you bring in the last inspection report,

and it better damn well mention the fire hazard.

Well, it won't mention a fire hazard

because none existed.

Seven people died in that fire, sir.

Seven people that did not have to die, okay?

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

They're not my dead, Mr. Choy.

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

They didn't have to die, sir.

You hear me?

What's wrong with this department?

Fucking bureaucrats.

(gentle jazz music)

I make my bones as a humble housing inspector.

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

I learned to navigate the back alleys of the mission

as a kid, running these streets in the barrio,

we owned the place.

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

these garages turned into in laws

where three families lived packed in tight,

desperate as boat people.

The closets redone into master bedroom suites.

Got a hot plate?

Plug it in.

And now these techie culture vultures are walking around,

and the post-bubble hipsters

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

You can see them pushing baby strollers

and eating their gelato, cruising their Beamers

and $3,000 peddle bikes.

Calculating how much it would take

to run everybody out of here.

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

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

(haunting electronic music)

(uptempo orchestral music)

[Reporter] Good evening.

It was on the corner of 16th and Valencia,

the Golden Bay Hotel, a once elegant residence

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

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

for the unemployed and displaced families.

There were seven fatalities.

Our own Rigo Chacon has the story.

Rigo.

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

There were witnesses, many of them coming out

of this neighborhood bar when they looked across the street

and saw a raging fire.

One of them called 911.

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

Esta Noche, tonight, this night.

(uptempo dance music) (patrons chatter)

(distant sirens blare)

(woman giggles)

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

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

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

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

♪ All those nights ♪

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

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

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

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

♪ Thought you were smart ♪

♪ You were covered in tracks ♪

♪ I won't take you back ♪

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

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

♪ So much to learn ♪

♪ You can watch us burn away, away ♪

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

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

♪ Talk to me stay away from me ♪

♪ Get out of my life ♪

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

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

[Woman] What are you doing around here?

Investigating a fire.

You hear anything about a fire?

Maybe, maybe not.

What have you heard?

(distant siren blares)

Let's watch the show.

(lighter clinks)

(lighter clicks)

(traffic hums)

Jessi, excellent show.

Thank you.

- Terrific energy. - Thank you.

I mean it.

What did you see that night?

What did you see?

(speaks in foreign language) I was standing right here

- with Nido. - Okay.

When all of a sudden,

the flames just shot out all at once.

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

Licking up the side of the building.

The flames didn't come from inside the building?

No, (speaks in foreign language).

You sure?

From the outside.

What else did you see?

Two men running away.

Are you sure about that?

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

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

Maybe.

Maybe, maybe's not good enough.

Could you identify them?

Well.

What did they look like?

Well they had big muscles.

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

All right, okay, thank you for that.

Listen, that's good enough for me.

That and what you saw.

So uh, thank you.

(haunting electronic music)

(midtempo instrumental music)

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

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

What you pourin' tonight, what you got?

(bartender speaks in foreign language)

What are you servin' today, brother?

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

Little Chilean.

Try it.

- It looks good. - Try it.

(engine hums)

Nice, nice.

Sensational, man.

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

[Bartender] You need some more?

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

What's that song playing, man?

It reminds me of something.

[Bartender] Man.

What is that?

Reminds me of Compay Segundo, man.

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

You know, his real name was Francisco Repilado?

[Bob] Repilado.

Checked out after 93 years of smokin' them cigars.

No shit.

[Bartender] No shit.

- Wow. - Yeah.

[Bob] Checked out.

Gone.

This year, my amigo, poet and brother Piedro Petri

had moved on to the other barrio.

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

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

whom I'd known 30 years.

And now, there were seven more

who checked into the other barrio,

took that one way ticket on the mission 14 line

all the way to the cemeteries in Colma, California.

Blood of Christ.

God damn, the dead were all around me.

Urging me to keep on living.

To keep their memories alive.

Hey man, I gotta go.

Thank you so much much, brother.

All right.

Appreciate it, all right?

That sounds good, I like that music.

[Bartender] Take care, man.

Some good shit, that wine's good.

All right.

Muchas gracias.

- De nada. - Thank you.

Whoa man, what's up?

You Morales?

Who the fuck's askin'?

Mike Callahan wants to speak to you.

Callahan wants to see me?

Well Callahan's not on my social calendar.

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

Fuckin' great.

Let's go see Callahan, man.

All right, let's go, curious guy.

(ominous electronic music)

We going to Jersey?

That's what Michael Corleone said in The Godfather.

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

I kind of feel like Huey and Dewey,

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

Callahan still signing your checks, eh?

Keeps you dressed nice in your fine black leathers.

I think you guys might be some Russian river muscle.

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

doesn't he?

You guys know seven people died in that fire?

I think you care, Huey and Dewey,

but you're not allowed to show emotion.

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

Well let me tell you man, old school mission.

The low riders and the homies,

they're in the other barrio already.

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

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

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

Give you a tour of the other barrio.

Punch a one way ticket to Colma.

That's where seven people are headed right now.

Sittin' at the fuckin' morgue office right now.

Does Callahan give a fuck about that?

I know you do, Huey and Dewey, eh?

Fuckin' beautiful neighborhood, man.

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

Huey and Dewey, how come Callahan

ain't fighting for the old mission, huh?

Clooney's and The Dover Club,

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

'Cause if you know about The Mission,

you know, you know, you know, man,

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

Fuck you Huey and Dewey.

Grow a pair, will you?

Get a conscience.

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

(door thuds)

(door thuds)

He's at the end of the pier.

I used to go fishing there.

You should try fishing.

(midtempo jazz music)

Mr. Morales, you smoke cigars?

So what you so pissed off about?

Go on, spit it out.

I cited The Golden Bay Hotel.

The one that burned.

Not for fire hazard.

'Cause a fire hazard didn't exist.

I don't follow you.

It burned down on my watch, Callahan.

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

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

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

Okay, it wasn't an accident.

It was a flea bag hotel.

Everything changes.

You should know it was against city ordinance

to tear down low income housing.

I think you know that.

Hey, someone was careless.

That's the way to look at it.

It won't be an inconvenience to you.

I can't explain inconvenience to seven families

of seven corpses at the morgue.

You see that, that there?

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

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

Looks like a fuckin' nightmare.

I'm gonna find out how that fire started.

Just so you know, Mr. Callahan.

You have a loft that's not warranted.

I've bot permits, man.

Hey, that's a matter of opinion.

One of your neighbors might file a complaint,

say it's illegal.

We're all illegal, except the Ohlone,

and we destroyed them a century ago.

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

I found religion after that fire, Mr. Callahan.

Look, Morales, nobody appreciates a smart ass like you

stirring up trouble for other people.

Let me remind you, with your illegal loft,

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

By the time Callahan was finished

poking his 1% manicured finger in my chest,

I realized the seven dead from the motel fire

weren't even a part of the 99%.

I'll walk home.

Fighting City Hall would be a hell of a lot easier

without these heartless pricks on my back.

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

I knew me an Indian once named Trader Joe.

(ominous electronic music)

(Bob mumbles)

(glass clatters) (ominous electronic music)

(voice echoes in foreign language)

(train chugs)

(Bob breathes heavily)

(midtempo jazz music)

I had to find out who might have something to gain

by torching The Golden Bay.

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

Address, something something south Van Ness Avenue.

One of those old Victorian mansions from another century

and the heart of the barrio.

(Bob knocks)

(Bob and woman speak in foreign language)

No F. Delgado?

No.

Senora Lopez's house.

Lopez house. (speaks in foreign language)

What's the matter?

Senora, hey.

Hey, Roberto.

[Bob] Hey, Sophia.

What are you doing here?

I'm looking for a F. Delgado.

I don't know any F. Delgado.

This is my aunt's house.

[Bob] Your aunt's house.

Yes, I'm her attorney.

Maybe I can talk to your aunt?

What's this about, Roberto?

Are you with the police, I mean...

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

Not the police at all.

Investigating some housing business and stuff.

Okay.

Sophia.

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

she's sick.

She's sick.

[Sophia] I'm sorry.

Mm, maybe she's better, I can?

Maybe.

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

I have an appointment.

I understand.

[Sophia] Can I give you a ride anywhere?

I'm going to 16th and Valencia.

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

(ominous electronic music)

[Sophia] I hardly even recognize you.

It's been a while.

So you're working for the city?

Department of building inspections.

Crack down on deadbeat landlords

that don't provide livable, habitable living spaces

for people.

Worked in Chinatown, Western addition, Filmore.

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

We're focused right here in the barrio.

That makes sense.

Got a woman in your life?

Yeah, no.

Yes, no.

Yes or no?

Amanda left me.

She did?

I'm a loser.

Our formerly happy loft space that we lived in

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

so I basically hang out in nameless, faceless bars.

You do that, so you're telling me

you lost your way with women.

I lost my way with women when I lost you.

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

I just feel like some live music.

I want it to blow right through me.

Feel like maybe?

Why not?

Screw it, who cares.

When's the last time you went dancing?

1999. (giggles)

(whistles) Old school.

I was there, I remember.

[Sophia] Yeah you were.

So pick me up in front of the can factory

about a quarter to nine, okay?

We'll take it from there.

All right.

Keep it real, counselor.

Later, Kenny.

(shutter clicks)

(ominous electronic music)

The word was already out on the street.

This was a frame job.

The bulldozers and the wrecking balls

stood poised to knock down the side of the building

facing Valencia Street, but the fire had started

on the 16th Street side.

It was becoming obvious to me what had happened here,

something caught fire in the passageway,

right underneath the fire escape.

And the sons of bitches,

they could've spared the fire escape,

giving those trapped inside a chance to get out,

but they hadn't even given 'em that.

These people, they had no chance.

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

Taking pictures of the site.

For your scrapbook?

Get the fuck outta here.

If someone's destroying evidence,

someone has the right to do that, officer.

Well, you're a day late.

The DA has all the photos he needs.

(laughs) How can he?

Someone's fuckin' destroying the site.

Are you doubting me, you flat-ass Mexican?

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

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

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

You're the one who overlooked the fire hazards,

and now it's on your conscience.

If faggot liberals like you have a conscience,

is that right?

Have it your way, genius.

Thank you, officers.

Have a good day, brilliant.

It was clear someone was trying to bury this thing

and bury it quick.

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

Who was F. Delgado and et al?

Who owned the goddamn hotel?

So I figured it something like this.

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

And Sophia was lying to protect her.

Or, Sophia didn't know shit about anything,

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

Here you go, (speaks in foreign language).

Hey, that looks great.

Looks delicious.

You're welcome.

That's for you.

Aye, senor Roberto.

Thank you, my family really appreciates it.

I know you do.

It's for your vacation to San Pedro Sula.

See, Sula.

I got it right, Sula.

I love your Ecuadorian flag.

- Hondurena. - Hondurena.

Miss Mary, I favor to ask of you.

Okay.

I wondered if you would keep these things

here in the restaurant for a couple of days only.

Okay.

Put them somewhere no one can find them.

I trust you.

There it is.

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

Don't say that.

Thank you.

(gentle jazz music)

- Morales. - Yeah?

(punch thuds)

Aw, shit.

(thief speaks in foreign language)

Hey.

Nothing wrong with being a (speaks in foreign language)

you fucker.

Oh no.

Hella got my briefcase.

[Sophia] Come on.

Tell me about it in the car.

[Bob] Son of a bitch.

(engine revs)

[Sophia] You would do anything

to come to my place tonight.

Yeah.

That's funny.

Ooh.

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

[Sophia] The neighborhood's going to shit.

It's getting so violent.

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

Then what else could it be?

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

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

Thank you.

Careful girl, now.

- Easy, easy. - Sorry.

Does blood make you nervous?

No.

Just take it easy, will you?

Okay.

I killed a guy one time.

I was 17 years old.

Stupid ass teenage gang shit,

and we thought we were gangsters.

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

all his boys were surrounding me,

I thought they were gonna.

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

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

I just, hitting him over, over, over,

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

you know?

Why are you telling me this?

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

I've just.

Can I ask you a question?

Yeah?

Can you be trusted?

What do you wanna ask me?

Goddamn it, Sophia, can you be trusted?

Yes, I can be trusted.

What do you wanna ask me?

Your aunt.

Your aunt.

She's powerful.

Yeah, no shit.

She knows too much about me.

Like what?

She provides the fronts.

I cook up the contracts.

I make sure everything's legal.

You're talkin' about apartments?

It's an insurance scam.

Plus with that hotel going down,

they can build something new.

They could make a lot of money.

- Holy shit. - A few million.

Every apartment fire in the nation

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

those apartments are now condos and upper class spaces.

Is this what we're talking about?

Hello, yes.

What's her real goddamn name?

Ahora Felicia Delgado Lopez.

Shit.

I think she ordered the fire.

Wait a minute, wait a minute,

why are you saying that, counselor?

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

She's got the mayor in one pocket.

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

There's just a lot of money involved,

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

you can't stand up to them, okay?

They'll hurt you.

They'll hurt you bad, Roberto.

I just, everyone involved, a lot of money,

the Builder's Association,

they got a blueprint for The Mission.

I just met with this contractor,

Callahan, out at the pier.

Shit like that, Jesus Christ.

You're gonna have to decide, Sophia.

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

I have the documentation.

It's in my office.

I have a witness named La Jessica,

a terrific dancer, a great person,

I mean maybe the three of us,

we could finally bring down this whole bitch.

I mean, we gotta nail her to the ground.

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

but this, we gotta get her.

What's up with that flaming broad right there?

Purgatory.

Where'd you get it?

It was a gift.

Why is it there?

Our souls, cleanse our sins.

Who gave it to you?

My aunt.

Delgado.

Fuck me.

Do you trust me?

Do you trust me, Roberto?

(gentle jazz music)

Can I trust you?

You can trust me.

That's the question.

I can trust you?

I still love you, Sophia.

I can trust you, but I just gotta know.

What?

Are you wearing a wire, do you know?

No.

Are you wearing a wire?

I'm not wearing a wire.

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

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

you don't even know.

I don't think she...

She's powerful.

God, she's powerful.

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

Get this hair down.

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

Ooh.

I gotta get outta here, it's late.

I'm tired, terrific show, once again,

thank you so much.

Oh no, papi, going home alone?

Well.

(audience applauds) (ominous music)

I'll be sifting for evidence.

Maybe you can come talk to me again?

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

Happy birthday.

Thank you, thank you for the information.

It's very courageous of you.

Seven people died last night.

Good night, Jessi.

[Man] They fuck everybody say fuck 'em.

(Bob groans)

The fuck?

Oh shit.

Sophia.

(Bob coughs)

Sophia?

What the hell?

There you are, eh?

Well, thank you.

Morning paper in bed, yeah I like that.

The headline sent a shock right through me.

La Jessica had been found stabbed to death

in her hotel room.

Son of a bitch.

The paper was speculating that a John

angry at having discovered Jesus instead of Jessica

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

Well, I wasn't so convinced.

La Jessica was flirtatious, but hey,

the lady was not a whore.

(pinball machine dings)

[Officer] Fucker.

(traffic hums)

(man yells in foreign language)

She knew too much.

Everybody knows that place was torched.

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

It's sad.

She didn't.

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

That's messed up.

Very sorry about Jessica.

Sad, girl?

I'm very sorry, okay?

Mission forever, remember, you said that?

That's right, homeboy.

Jessi forever.

We're gonna find out what happened here.

Fuckin' eight dead, eight dead now.

Eight dead.

(ominous music)

(pinball machine dings)

Is this really necessary Johnson, you asshole?

Lady's gonna lose her license.

[Officer] Fucker.

Receiving stolen city property.

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

You don't know shit, Johnson.

Yeah, well, it's evidence now.

Her license is gone.

We are merely retrieving what belongs to the city.

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

Mm-mm-mm.

See you later, pussy.

I just cost Miss Mary her gig.

Miss Mary, I'm so sorry.

(Miss Mary sobs)

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

(horns honk) (siren blares)

Sophia.

(slap smacks)

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

Bitch, you told them!

I didn't tell them anything!

You told them everything!

- I warned you! - Bullshit!

Yes, I did.

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

It's a list of all the contributions

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

It's all in there.

Fuck.

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

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

My files, my photos, everything?

We're not safe.

That's what's going on here.

We're not safe.

We need to get outta here.

I have an idea, come on.

Fucking going on here.

Son of a bitch.

God damn it.

Are you crazy, what are you doing?

Yeah, I'm going crazy, Sophia.

I'm fucking crazy, yeah.

The lamp, the goddamn lamp, I knew it.

Sone of a bitch.

What are you looking for?

(ominous music)

Oh my god.

Your motherfucking aunt recorded every goddamn word

we said last night.

What do you think of that, hm, counselor?

Everything?

Every goddamn thing.

We gotta get the fuck outta here.

What, what do I pack?

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

(uptempo electronic music)

I know a cove up Hateno Bay,

a friend of mine has a motel there.

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

See how this thing's gonna play itself out,

we gage the fallout, whatever.

So let's do that.

- Yeah? - Yeah, sounds good.

(engine revs)

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

No.

They look suspicious though.

(engine revs)

(tires screech)

(gun clicks)

(tires screech) (gun fires)

Are you hit?

Sophia.

Oh my god.

Stay with me.

- Go. - Stay with me!

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

I knew in that instant my life was changing.

Go.

Punctuated by the horrible sound of guns and the bullets

ripping through Sophia.

The before and after of this day

would scar whatever life I have left.

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

no sir, the way things were going.

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

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

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

(soft jazz music)

When I got back to La Mission,

I discovered my loft had been torched.

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

Cocksucker!

(door thuds)

The graffiti didn't fool me.

Shit.

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

Obviously, I never went back to the job.

I went underground for my own protection.

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

Chain smoking and cleaning guns

seemed like my best option.

My only option.

Callahan was a big city hall hero now,

and the big broad came out on top once again.

Unscathed, bastards.

So dispatching them to the other barrio

seemed like the only way to go.

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

really it wouldn't have changed a goddamn thing,

other than landing me lifetime accommodations

and a nice view of San Quentin,

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

and I began to lose my grip.

I was falling further and further down the rabbit hole.

(traffic hums)

(siren blares)

(uptempo Latin music)

Happy summer solstice!

(people chatter)

Hey.

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

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

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

I collect all the royalties,

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

top of Google.

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

but I killed a man, too.

My fiance and I were coming back

from a weekend of wine tasting in Napa.

I was driving, a bit tipsy.

Horrible accident.

He died.

My aunt got me off the hook.

From that day on, she owned me.

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

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

Just delete your current dropbox and create an alias.

Right?

Right?

Yo, let's get a picture.

- Yeah. - Let's get a picture,

let's get a picture.

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

All right, selfie.

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

There we go, all right.

(giggles) You blinked.

I'm gonna Instagram that.

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

We all look pretty good in that.

Pretty good.

Do I look good? (laughs)

Nice, cheers.

Oh, okay.

New guy.

Can I ask you a question?

Yeah.

Do you think that the stronger, hipper hipsters

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

just like.

(group chuckles)

Is there a cannibalism thing going on?

That's a good question.

You mean, like, like you mean like,

people having like the munchies or something?

Sure, yeah.

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

Like a tortilla.

- Oh! - What?

Oh, speaking of tortillas, El Palalito!

El Palalito!

We are going.

And speaking of munchies, we want some of this.

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

I'll take a hit.

- Oh you, wow. - Yeah.

Shit.

Yeah, hipsters gone wild.

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

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

What dude?

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

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

Is this The Mission precinct?

Uh, yeah, nine 11 officer,

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

A crime of the century.

A high-tech stick up,

and I'm looking at perpetrators right now.

Very good looking, very fashionably dressed,

one guy looks like Weezer, and um...

Whoa, dude.

Two Deathcab for Cutie chicks.

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

And I think that they are cannibalizing The Mission,

and I'd like you to come and um,

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

I'm very scared.

We're just having a nice time here.

We don't know you.

Dude, so am I. (laughs)

You done man, you done?

Having a good time, too.

All right, dude.

We're all just having a good time.

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

Sorry about that.

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

- Thanks, dude. - Okay.

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

to see white people,

now I just have to go to 18th and Valencia

and I feel like a minority.

Isn't that weird?

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

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

I think what's fuckin' weird is your,

why, why are you?

I'm sorry.

- Peace, peace. - He's sorry.

Okay, I think just somewhere else.

Am I weirding you, am I making it weird?

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

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

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

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

Driver?

[Bob] Be careful, sweetie.

[Woman] Yeah, you have a good night.

[Bob] A good time to go.

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

- Asshole. - Chill the fuck out.

Work on that 41-OK thing you got.

[Man] Yeah, I plan on it.

[Bob] All right, man.

All right, Nickelback, take care.

[Man] Uh yeah, okay.

(laughs) Hey, whoa.

You really cleared out the joint.

Congratulations.

You know what I always ponder?

Why do they call 'em hipsters, anyway?

The Beats, they were hip.

They were non-conformist.

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

These tech kids,

they make and find their identity on the net.

Are you a fuckin' cop or what?

No.

Then why don't you go sit somewhere else?

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

Kiss me.

(suspenseful electronic music)

Hi boys.

Everyone has to wear the sombreros.

[Man] Really?

[Woman] Sorry man, rules are rules.

(engine rumbles)

(man hums rhythmically)

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

[Man] (chuckles) Down low.

(train blares)

Fuck.

Woman on deck.

[Men] Hi, Pearl.

[Pearl] Hi, boys.

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

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

Uh, this morning? (laughs)

Who are you?

That's The Pearl, man.

Exactly, who are you?

[Man] Guardian angel's what she is.

How'd you know about those fucking men

in that Mexican bus back there, huh?

Did I help you or not?

Okay, you helped me.

Then you owe me.

Excuse me, fellas.

I owe you nothing, I owe you what?

Easy, easy.

Pearl is our friend.

It's all right, guys.

Bob's an old friend.

Let's keep the party polite.

You want I should scalp him, Pearl?

[Bob] No, no, no, no.

Reinforcing ugly stereotypes

isn't quite necessary tonight, Mr. Crow,

but thank you just the same.

Just let me know, eh?

Scalping, you say?

I counted coup on a hundred fools.

He's still scalping 'em.

It's in the hat.

Urban buff and soldierin' is what we call it.

Oh.

She brings us fancy yuppie food every week, man.

We got to protect her, brother.

Oh, you damn right.

How'd she know my name?

Go get her, man!

[Bob] Hey, Pearl!

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

You got that right, she is.

She's gonna bring me a yoga mat

so I can do Bikram down here.

- Shit. - Oh, aristocrat.

(gentle instrumental music)

(suspenseful electronic music)

(man speaks in foreign language)

(audience speaks in foreign language)

Well most of you probably already know

why we're here tonight, but welcome,

for those of you who don't know,

welcome to the Just Cause Causa Justa meeting.

Why are we here?

Because we are justified in our cause.

They keep evicting us from our places where we live,

the elders, the young people,

and now even these businesses.

Fact I, just walkin' up here,

somebody handed me the flyer for the Encantada Gallery.

They're even being displaced themselves.

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

'cause we wanna hear from you.

We wanna take your voices and your stories

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

down at City Hall.

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

Earnestine?

Yes, well, I came here today looking for help

because, um, everybody in our building got notices

that we have to move.

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

and one family only has found a place.

I, myself have an issue.

I have my 90 year old mother with me,

and I have not been able to find a place.

I'm down to 15 days.

I filed an elder abuse report

because I think it is elder abuse.

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

She does not wanna leave The Mission.

I don't wanna leave The Mission.

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

How are they getting away with this?

We cannot find an affordable place.

I need help with this.

I was just hoping that today,

maybe somebody could go through my resources with me

and see if there's anything I've missed

because I don't know what to do.

Where do I turn?

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

(ominous electronic tones)

You can do that?

Totally within the color of the law.

You're a badass.

I know, right?

[Dispatcher] Available units,

see deputies at 600 block of Valpo Avenue.

Africans American female refusing to vacate premises.

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

[Dispatcher] Has chained herself to the front gate.

What?

[Pearl] Welcome.

Welcome?

Outstanding work, Pearl.

Found him faster than I thought.

Found me?

Who are you people?

Who are we?

You hungry, man?

You want a sandwich?

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

Who's the smart-ass white boy?

The white boy is a housing attorney

specializing in renters' rights for Section Eight tenants

and class action lawsuits against developers

who prey upon and discriminate against the poor.

That's who the white boy is.

He's pretty good.

Pretty sick court record, too.

Don't fuck with with the white boy.

I'll try not to.

What do yo guys do here?

Fuck shit up.

We hack systems, track people.

You're hackers.

You're tracking me?

Yes.

Why me, why?

Why you, shit.

You're Bob Morales, mano.

We'll work with you to nail the bastards.

To torched hotels to make room

for million-dollar lofts.

The real enemy.

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

Underground?

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

[Man] Which road is that, sir?

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

The road of smoke in mirrors and bureaucracies

and where nothing sticks.

Shit don't stick, man.

Where people get torched in their SRO rooms.

They burn alive.

Seven people dead.

I couldn't prove a fuckin' thing.

Maybe you couldn't, but we could try.

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

with a microcamera or a microphone

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

(Bob laughs)

Dispatches from the underground.

Wire me?

I don't do wires, ever.

Not a wire, wire.

Just a way for us to capture your narrative.

My narrative.

Oh, are you guys fuckin' crazy?

Are you out of your mind?

I still don't know how you guys know me

or who the hell I am.

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

But I'm hella underground now, son.

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

But we can still see you.

I see Chicano people.

[Bob] This place is beyond fucking weird.

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

Christopher.

What's even weirder

is that you were once a pure badass once.

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

to push you underground where you could sleep

under a railroad track.

That's enough, Christopher.

No, no.

Let him go.

Keep going, white boy.

Developers don't sleep.

Money doesn't sleep.

Evictions do not sleep, motherfucker.

Here The Mission gave you...

Dog paths.

Cultural tourism.

Mills Act, anybody?

We were once a city of poets, man.

Underground underworld is real cool, Roberto,

but at this point, it's a luxury,

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

because they barely even acknowledged

your fucking existence.

That's cold.

Bob Morales is not in the other barrio just yet.

There's work to do.

(sirens blare)

[Dispatcher] Looking for a mission in Bernal Heights.

(dispatcher speaks in foreign language)

(sirens blare)

[Bob] Fuck, stop.

No, it never stops, Bob.

(horns blare)

- Not in Williamsburg. - Brooklyn.

Not in Silver Lake or Echo Park.

(horns blare)

- Chinatown. - Tampoco.

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

for Sophia.

Or the seven souls in a Mission hotel fire.

Urban deportation.

Swift moving current, ese.

Scarcely slowing even for the suns and daughters

of technology to disembark their buses.

White buses.

The nightly flotilla of Google, Facebook, Yahoo salmon

swimming up Valencia.

The Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria.

Kids wanna live in edgy, cool, hip hoods

without the actual hassle of homeless people,

the working poor, the undocumented,

or god forbid, a real fag with HIV.

That's good.

That's pretty good.

For a white boy.

All right.

I'm gonna hit the head.

(ominous music)

Okay, that's good.

We got him.

You think?

I don't know.

(lighter clicks)

(gentle instrumental music)

(midtempo jazz music)

Everyone has a divine right to Saturday night.

Divine, divine. (speaks in foreign language)

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

A true gentlemen never guesses a woman's age,

where a woman's from.

Are you a true gentleman?

Divina was walking down the street to Esta Noche,

looking for her divine right to a Saturday night

but she never made it.

Divina has a whole group of fierce blessings of unicorn

that are watching, looking out for her.

Somewhere in the beyond.

Divina (speaks in foreign language).

This is for you, Jessica.

You rest in peace.

(crowd applauds)

It is my absolute honor to introduce to you

the bard of The Mission the keeper of the fire,

Alejandro Murguia, ladies and gentlemen.

(crowd cheers)

(speaks in foreign language) Thank you all very much

for showing up tonight.

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

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

and we are on a mission,

and the mission is to be in the mission.

(speaks in foreign language)

Wherever I stand, here, there, everywhere,

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

like The Mission's in you because The Mission is

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

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

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

(speaks in foreign language) Watch your watch

when you're in The Mission.

Check the descarga beat on Mission Street

because the heat is on The Mission, yeah.

That's right, so the new mission

must be to free the mission, oh yeah.

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

and what a vision, to free The Mission.

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

(audience applauds) Thank you all.

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

(audience cheers)

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

(woman speaks in foreign language)

(Alejandro laughs)

(suspenseful music)

Sir!

This belongs to you.

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

- You sure? - Yes.

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

(Alejandro speaks in foreign language)

We used to be a city of poets.

We still are.

Be cool.

I used to be you.

(midtempo jazz music)

I used to be you.

Happy summer solstice, eh?

Thank you, Mr. Crow.

(midtempo rhythmic music)

♪ Local hipsters ♪

(artist raps in foreign language)

[Man] The first power of folks we encounter

in Planet Mission is a border conflict

between the so-called locals and the art hipsters.

Two gross generalizations cause (speaks in foreign language)

the locals aren't that local

and the hipsters aren't that hip.

The main complaint of the locals

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

ontologically speaking.

That they are here temporarily

only to have a vicarious experience of bohemian otherness.

They are perceived as obnoxious tourists

scratching the hood

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

cheaper than Santa Fe or Venice Beach,

and certainly less dangerous than Tijuana.

And after a few Grey Goose martinis,

the hipsters also complain.

They complain about the homeboys, machismo,

and their primitive tattoos.

About the homegirls' rowdiness and long black nails

and moan that everything closes so early

in the mecca of hipsterism.

It's a complicated border war.

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

between tequila and more expensive tequila.

But deep inside, it's a much nastier war

between those who remember and those who forget.

Those who are here to stay

and those who are just passing through.

(artist raps in foreign language)

Last night, one of my local bars,

this old Chicano drunk whispered into my ear

as if consoling himself, in two years,

all these wanna-be eccentrics will all return to Iowa

or Wisconsin, wherever the fuck they came from.

It's a complicated border war.

It's a good read.

I was riveted.

I miss a good book.

- (harmonica hums) - Oh-ho.

Why you come down here, man?

Why do you come around here?

He comes here to remember.

- Remember what? - He remembers.

We remember, too.

[Man] You were here that night.

What night?

Come on, brother.

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

I remember you.

The night your buddies started a bad fire

just right over there.

The night Hobo Harry died.

Burned to death right there.

They torched Hobo Harry.

Guys, I had, I.

Fellas, I had nothing to do with that.

But you tried to stop it, as I remember.

Sons of bitches sprayed Hobo Harry

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

He was beggin' 'em to stop.

Mean little fuckers.

(dramatic electronic tones)

He was screamin' to make 'em stop.

(dramatic electronic tones)

I was, I tried.

Flames been followin' me my whole fuckin' life.

Maybe it's time to stop running.

Running from the flame.

Not all fire's bad.

Not all brimstone is bad, you know?

Turn and face the fire, Bob.

Could be you're holdin' the flamethrower

in your hand right now.

We all of us have matches. (laughs)

Fire's chased us all.

Oh, tobacco for the fire.

Gartland Hotel, 1976.

'75.

- '75. - Ah.

And it was the Gartland Apartments, yeah.

I lived there, I know.

Had myself a real nice room there.

Hot plate in the corner, black and white TV,

little Frigidaire. (mimics beer top hissing)

(group laughs)

Aristocrat.

Oh, touche, my brother Crow.

Things was flush for you.

'Till the Gartland fire.

12 souls up and perished.

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

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

Yes.

Suit up, Bob.

Get your ass back out there.

In the game.

You're not built so well for down here.

No, sir.

For I too have walked

in the shadow of the valley of the silicon.

This ain't no weather underground.

This ain't no social media, either.

Revolt of the cockroach people.

Your poet is giving you a shot at redemption.

Fuckin-a right, eh?

Right.

Mission still needs you, Morales.

So bang your drum slowly.

Let it haunt the Colonial ghosts

in the banks of The Mission Creek.

[Bob] I like that.

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

You're a fuckin' housing authority.

Housing investigator man, actually.

Well go on and do your thing, boo.

Praise the lord and pass the ripple.

(train clatters)

(midtempo piano music)

Wire me up, white boy.

(Christopher speaks in foreign language)

(hacker speaks in foreign language)

Take your shirt off.

Actually, I have something better.

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

[Bob] This. (chuckles)

Whoa.

Go make a Wiki page

or whatever it is the fuck you guys do.

I always wondered what a WikiLeak looked like.

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

Go Wiki, go get a hashtag.

- Good. - Yeah, man.

Go, Wiki baby.

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

No?

No, we take this to The Observer.

Nobody reads newspapers anymore, Pearl.

I do.

Old schooling.

She's the shock collar, eh?

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

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

This is good, real good.

Read this, Sean, read that.

Now check this out. (speaks in foreign language)

Handwritten, even.

Following the tragic death of my niece, Sophia,

my health has deteriorated rapidly.

God is punishing me, I believe,

and to receive his forgiveness,

I must release our no-show contracts

and every ghost transaction regarding the hotel fires.

May God forgive.

All hail the queen and the deathbed confession.

- Yeah. - Get your smoking gun

and smoking ammunition.

How did you get this?

From El Poeta himself.

Where did he get it?

(chuckles) From Sophia's aunt.

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

[Christopher] Is there a...

Turn it over.

[Christopher] A love letter to confirm this?

[Bob] Read, read.

[Christopher] Says right here.

(speaks in foreign language)

So, Poeta was the only one she trusted.

And El Poeta trusted Bob?

'Cause this vato is super legit.

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

They'll stand up to a jury.

Dates, ledgers, fires.

Huh?

We are holding more fire for the fire.

Sean, go.

Shit, gone!

Be careful.

(woman sings in foreign language)

[Bob] I started feeling better about myself again,

and for the first time,

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

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

Real hard.

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

Say thank you to her, one last time.

(speaks in foreign language)

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

Hew as on the run like a scared rat

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

(midtempo jazz music)

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

A reminder so we wouldn't forget,

but it ended up helping inspire an entire movement.

And that movement took over the barrio.

[Man] Who's city?

[Crowd] Our city!

[Man] Who's city?

[Crowd] Our city!

[Man] Who's city?

[Crowd] Our city!

Viva La Mission! (crowd cheers)

[Group] Our mission no eviction!

(group chants in foreign language)

Our mission no eviction!

(group chants in foreign language)

Our mission now eviction!

(group chants in foreign language)

Our mission no eviction!

(group chants in foreign language)

Our mission no eviction!

(group chants in foreign language)

I gotta be real honest with you.

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

Would it bring back all the souls we lost?

No.

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

(laughs) Man, sweet.

Nicole, be sure to get Discolandia, okay?

How's this?

Perfect.

Hola.

[Woman] Hola.

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

But only seven souls who perished in a hotel fire

not so long ago, I will not forget them.

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

Sure.

[Bob] Nor will I forget Sophia and Jessica,

my two angels.

Thanks.

[Bob] This to you, I swear.

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

To the other barrio.

(midtempo jazz music)

Subtitles by explosiveskull

(men sing in foreign language)

(midtempo jazz music)

(man sings in foreign language)