Narcos: Mexico (2018–…): Season 1, Episode 2 - Episode #4.2 - full transcript
Shh, shh. Hey, hey...
Drop the gun.
Hey, don't move! Don't move!
Cuff him!
- Clear?
- Yes. All clear!
Gentlemen. Clear!
Let's bring it down. Let's go!
Let's go.
Wow. These guys, uh...
they didn't put up much of a fight.
How much, you think?
250 pounds.
Not more. Maybe a little less.
Same as they give us every month.
So this is a set-up?
It's more like a donation.
Locals get a win,
a little piece of the action.
Everyone's happy.
Poor fella.
I'm gonna see if I can calm him down.
Butch is a horse man.
More of a ladies man myself.
Kiki.
Come look at this.
Entry wounds are at least a day old.
But our friend the captain says
that they just shot them
when they were trying to escape.
Sounds like more fish stories for
the gringos.
Excuse me.
Go ahead, Captain.
Recognize him, Jaime?
Hernan Naranjo.
He runs a lot of the Guadalajara trade.
We found his brother dead yesterday at
the Hotel Americas.
Really?
Someone's moving on
their territory?
Let's walk.
Yeah, there's not much rhyme or reason
in the pecking order around here, Kiki.
Just backwood dirtbags
growing ditch weed on half an acre
and every once in a while
killing each other.
Best we can do is hold tight
and ride through the bullshit.
Take what they give us.
Motherfuckers.
Sorry, bud.
Ain't like you could've rode her home.
Life 101.
All plants, even marijuana,
exist to make seeds.
But sinsemilla flips that on its head.
Starts with a female plant that flowers
without ever being pollinated.
Kind of like the immaculate conception.
But instead of baby Jesus,
you get bigger buds,
packing more THC,
making it the gold standard of
Mexican dope.
But cross-pollination
can ruin an entire crop,
so growing it outside is impossible
unless you're in the middle of a desert,
which presents its own challenges...
'cause it's a fucking desert.
Rafa, you have a call.
They're dying, Cuco.
They're waiting, brother.
Manuel! What are you doing, asshole?
- Put that shit away.
- Yeah, Rafa.
What the fuck are you doing, idiot?
We're growing the shit, not smoking it.
Fucking weed.
Yeah.
- What's wrong with the weed?
- That geologist was full of shit.
There's not enough water, Miguel.
So find some, Rafael.
We're setting up the biggest marijuana
distribution network
in the history of Mexico.
It won't mean shit if we don't have weed.
Fix this, brother.
This the pilot?
Amado, my nephew.
Has a good head on his shoulders.
Worked as a cop for awhile.
Been helping me out.
- Hey! You have a license?
- Sure, man.
What kind you looking for?
Let's go.
How's the plantation?
Great.
Weed up to your eyeballs.
First Juárez,
then I'll tell you where's next.
Looking back,
even knowing how it all turned out,
it's still hard to comprehend the scale
of Miguel Félix Gallardo's dream.
The fucking audacity of it.
But if you're gonna try, you need to know
that before the cartels existed,
things worked differently in Mexico.
The narcotics game was made
of lone wolf traffickers,
mostly Sinaloans,
who purchased permission from the cops
to run drugs
in a particular city or territory.
MEXICO
They called it the Plaza System.
MEXICO CITY
GUADALAJARA
Here's how it worked:
Anyone looking to do business
in the territory
had to cut in the plaza boss,
pay him a piso, or a toll.
And if they chose not to, trust me,
the boss made his displeasure known.
each plaza stood alone,
was its own world,
run by a certified asshole
who'd done enough dirt to get crowned
king of that particular piece of turf.
The job tended to attract
hard motherfuckers.
So a scheme to convince
a bunch of rival plazas,
led by trigger-happy sociopaths,
to work together,
take direction from some other dirtbag?
Yeah, right.
Good luck, friend.
I mean it.
The baby's fine.
Mama needs a foot massage.
Okay.
We should find out the sex.
It gives you a little time to
wrap your head around another boy.
Oh, what makes you so sure
it's another boy?
Oh, come on.
Come on. I don't need to hear about
what a man you are
and neither does our future daughter.
I want to use the same formula
we gave Kikito.
They can send it from Texas,
but it'll cost more.
- You listening to me?
- Yeah.
The doctors here are good
and the formula isn't.
Oh, I missed my turn. Hold up.
Where the hell are we?
Uh...
What are you doing?
Hold up, hold on.
Are you following someone?
No, uh... Sears told me
that there's a good birria place nearby.
I, uh... I must have heard wrong.
Jesus, Kiki. On the way home from the OB?
You never know when
you're gonna get lucky, right?
Just don't get lucky when
you're picking up Kikito from school.
Set the table for dinner.
Hey, that means make the table.
We're going to speak more Spanish, Kikito.
- Huh? Good luck.
- You're not staying for dinner?
No, I gotta get back to the office, babe.
Kikito, where are your binoculars?
Perfect.
SCHOOL OF GEOLOGY
And this is what makes the difference
between permeable
and impermeable surfaces.
Class is over.
Didn't you hear, pussies?
Get moving! Get the fuck out of here! Go!
Fast. Move.
Come on. Let's go!
Hurry up! Move it!
Come on! Let's go!
My babies are dying.
Because of you, asshole.
What's up?
What's up, Pablo?
Are the beers cold?
You look fatter, Don Neto.
- think so?
- Yeah.
Problem in town?
Nah, man.
You're proposing a monopoly.
We're producing more than anyone else.
With good distribution,
we'll dominate the market.
Once we control it, we set a fixed price.
Our price.
On top of that, we don't have to
worry about getting undercut.
More profits will come.
And little by little, more stability.
Hmm.
Like how the Arabs do, right?
OPEC for weed.
There you go. More or less.
And with control, there won't be violence.
Only works if every plaza signs up.
Yeah.
We just need the important ones.
Most of them we know.
- Sinaloans.
- Yeah.
Like blondy here.
Wandering motherfuckers.
They're everywhere.
Fucking Jews of the mountains.
No. We do business with any man
we trust and respect.
Even if he's from a shit-stain
like Ojinaga.
- Hey! Don't pull too much! Slowly!
- Yes, boss.
That nag cost me
a lot of fucking money, that asshole.
You might have concerns.
Why don't you come to our meeting
in Guadalajara?
See what we can achieve together.
You seem like a smart man, Miguel Ángel.
My problem is...
your boss.
He's not very smart.
Pedro Avilés is not a man
you can do business with.
We've had bad blood
over some bullshit for years.
No, man.
I don't think it would work.
I don't accept.
I'm aware of your dispute. In fact...
he asked me to let you know
he regrets his part in it.
Look...
those were his words.
"Tell him that it's time to move forward."
That's what he said.
I'll come to Guadalajara,
sit down with Avilés, the others.
But if I don't see proof
you got the cops on board
to grease this fucking OPEC thing?
That'd be all.
That's enough.
Okay then, brother.
That's nice.
Nice, huh?
- Does the date, too?
- Yeah.
Actually, to celebrate the beginning
of this new venture, here you go.
Check it out.
Like that, smooth.
Like to be there when you tell Pedro
he has to kiss Acosta's dusty ass.
What else could I do?
You couldn't have told me
about the bad blood?
I was sent to make introductions. You want
a history lesson, buy a fucking book.
- You don't give a shit, do you?
- What's there to give a shit about?
You know what this can be, for all of us.
I also know when you start
moving furniture around,
people stub their toes and get upset.
We have to grow.
Otherwise, life does
whatever the fuck it wants with you.
It always does, sunshine.
Fuck you, old man.
Okay?
Enough. Pick a side already.
So this super farm, it's ready?
'Cause just laying irrigation in
would take months, no?
Yeah.
What Acosta doesn't know won't hurt him.
You disagree?
No. You got balls, man.
- The watch was a cool touch.
- Right?
- Yeah.
- Fake.
So, enough weed to supply
the American market for a year.
Right on.
And then?
What?
You going to get all that product across
in trucks, or what?
Yeah.
Planes, man.
A shitload of planes.
That's the future.
Félix's dream was
to create a union of Mexican traffickers.
GUADALAJARA
To make good on that, he had to sign up
enough bosses from the right plazas.
And that meant convincing
some of the scariest dudes in Mexico
to work together for once.
Shit wasn't easy.
But Félix grew up in Sinaloa.
He understood these guys.
And he'd done his homework.
That meant knowing which asshole
responded to flattery...
and which just wanted to hear
the fucking numbers.
But there was one thing each
and every one of them needed to know:
That this idea of his was blessed
by the powers that be.
'Cause without that in Mexico,
you got nothing.
Tell your boss to come to
Guadalajara for the meeting.
Our new partners want to make sure
the DFS is on board.
The director will be there.
His time better not be wasted.
Who is he?
Nobody. Some ex-cop from Sinaloa.
Smarter than the others, though.
DIRECTORATE GENERAL
The official name
was the Federal Security Directorate,
known in Mexico as the DFS.
Their emblem was a tiger, 'cause why not?
Tigers are cool.
The tiger is a powerful animal
that doesn't fear danger.
That's how an agent from the Federal
Security Directorate should be.
Came up with their
own anthem. Shit too weird to make up.
After World War II,
Mexico's new president
was eager to attract U.S. investment,
which meant picking a side
in the Cold War.
To prove Mexico could get tough on Ivan,
the DFS was created,
which basically meant if the CIA
needed shit done in Mexico, DFS did it.
Tapping phones, keeping an eye
on Soviet and Cuban diplomats,
and making sure any opposition
to the ruling PRI party was kept in check.
Think Kent State was bad?
When students gathered in 1968
to protest all the money being spent
on the Mexico City Olympics,
the DFS showed up too...
and killed hundreds of unarmed civilians.
NIGHT OF HORROR IN TLATELOLCO!
Apparently that qualified them to provide
security for visiting American diplomats.
Carrying a DFS badge was
a license to extort, traffick, murder...
basically do whatever the fuck you wanted,
which is why Félix needed them on board.
These were the guys everyone
was scared of.
What you're saying is that...
the desert sits
on these moving Frisbee things...
and we just need to keep looking.
Geology is an inexact science.
Hopefully.
Hold up, Rafa!
This pussy's saying we have to re-dig
more fucking holes to find water?
- No!
- No fucking way!
Do you know anything about aquifers?
Or about confining beds?
Then you shut the fuck up
and go dig holes, asshole! Come on!
- Go fuck yourself.
- Let's go, motherfuckers.
Let's go.
Grab your things. Come with me.
Let's measure. You better find my water.
How long you been sitting on 'em?
Just a few days.
There's traffickers
just going in and out, in and out.
Look at it.
Business is booming.
Look at the license plates.
Zacatecas, Sonora, Baja California.
I mean, all out of state.
They're pushing drugs out
and bringing cash back in.
- We gotta move on it.
- We gotta move on it?
- Yes, sir.
- We gotta move on it?
- You're guessing. This is a guess.
- No. It all adds up.
You have any idea what it takes
to get the MFJP up for a raid this size?
I mean,
it's like teaching a cat to play fetch.
Make them do their job, sir.
Instead of taking that monthly donation...
fucking take whatever
they don't want us to have.
Let's see if you're right.
You wanna know
how fucked up Mexico is?
The hard part wasn't running a raid.
It was getting
the MFJP off their asses to do it.
First, you had to wait for
the right commander to come on duty.
- How's it going?
- Hey.
- Good luck!
- Thank you.
Hey, guys.
Then for him to hear you out...
...you had to share enough
to make sense, but not give it all away.
The trucks will be rolling heavy
and we can hit them easy.
It'd be a solid bust for you with the DF.
Real nice opportunity for you
and your boys.
"Opportunity" being MFJP code
for "a chance to score off the seizure."
It was truly an art, wrangling
federales into just doing their jobs.
POLICE
Nobody in front of me, gentlemen.
- Got it?
- Yes, got it.
I'd get to those trucks
as fast as you fucking can.
Don't move, motherfucker! Don't move!
Hey! On the ground!
Down!
Keep going. Keep going.
Down! On the ground!
Clear!
- Police!
- Drop your weapons.
Lower your guns. Search the place.
- I need a bolt cutter.
- Let's get him some bolt cutters.
Let's do it.
Fuck.
Round up everyone.
Charge them with possession
of dangerous plastic pipe.
I'm sure in America you strike fear
into plumbers everywhere.
Don't waste my time again.
Let's go.
Well, damn, Kiki.
I think he likes you.
He's mad
because he had to do his fucking job.
This place is dirty as fuck.
Hey, man...
you need to slow down.
Sir, if there's nothing to it,
then why is he guarding this place with...
Because this pipe's expensive
and they'll steal anything here.
But you don't know that
because you're new and you're pressing.
I know you came here to make cases,
but it ain't gonna happen in a day.
Let's go.
Fucking drill.
TIJUANA, BAJA CALIFORNIA
- Is it here?
- Yeah, here.
- There he is.
- Yeah.
What's up, Benjamín?
How's it going?
Miguel Ángel. Gentlemen.
- You just gonna sit here or what?
- No, let's go.
Looks like you don't miss Culiacán.
"El otro lado" is 3 blocks away.
Any asshole with a truck
can make good money.
- Electronics?
- Yeah.
Japanese shit. Designer jeans.
Some dope here and there.
Hey, 'Mon!
- Where you going?
- What?
Pancho said I could get an ice cream.
"Pancho said."
Those TVs aren't gonna move themselves.
You're gonna get fat, little bastard.
Come on, dude!
So, partner with Pedro Avilés.
Yeah.
And we all get rich.
No more blue jeans and toaster ovens.
I'll talk to my brothers,
but I'm interested.
If it's how you say.
But only if it's cool with El Cubano.
- Talking about Sicilia Falcón?
- Yeah.
He sells coke to movie stars.
What does he care?
He made me and my brothers
welcome in Tijuana.
I won't do anything that pisses him off.
That's okay, bro. I'll speak with him,
make sure there's no misunderstandings.
This isn't Sinaloa, man. Falcón's slick.
He hangs with big shots. Connected people.
I know someone who can arrange a meeting.
You can find people from Sinaloa anywhere.
- Miguel Ángel.
- Hi.
- It's been so long.
- Rodolfo's 18th birthday, I think.
This is Ernesto Fonseca Carrillo,
and his nephew Amado.
Amado Carrillo Fuentes. Pilot.
Isabella Bautista. My pleasure.
Hey. Is that Lucia Morales?
Yes.
She's going to sing for us later.
Maybe you can tell her you're a pilot.
Fuck, yeah.
- Come on. I'll take you to meet Alberto.
- We'll be back.
All right. Good evening.
Cheers! Cheers, guys!
You fit right in with these people.
No. I'm good at pretending.
Whoo!
- Rich people can't get enough of the shit.
- Yeah. They never get enough.
The margins are unbelievable.
Juan Matta Ballesteros.
Owns the top airline in Honduras.
Handles transportation for the Colombians.
Could introduce you.
No.
Cocaine's tricky.
It's still a niche business.
Colombians only move real weight
through the Bahamas.
But your Cuban friend, he's the real deal.
- He must be doing something right.
- Yeah.
Now it's our time to build an empire.
Is that what we're doing?
It's okay, Tony. We are with friends.
Hey, Tony.
Tell Mr. Félix here how many men
you killed in Vietnam.
Not enough, Mr. Falcón.
He said "not enough."
Your home's very beautiful.
- Thank you for seeing me.
- Anything for Isabella.
This must be serious.
Your friend and I are the only two here
who aren't drinking.
Miguel Ángel worked
as a bodyguard for my uncle.
He was the only one
who'd play with us kids.
But only after his shift was done.
He's a serious man.
Maybe he'll play with you now.
If you ask nicely.
I'm here on business.
Yes, I know.
You want to move Sinaloan weed
through Tijuana
using the Arellano Félix boys.
Tried the Colombian shit before?
Once or twice.
Bullshit.
Ay.
See that, uncle?
Its balls look just like yours.
Asshole!
Uncle!
- What's up with those Chinese fuckers?
- They're going to fuck each other up.
What a fucking party, man.
Holy shit!
It's a different business than yours.
We won't be in competition with you.
Now that's a relief.
It's good for everyone.
One single organization...
that would control all the cultivation
and distribution of marijuana in Mexico,
which means less violence...
less bullshit.
I give you my word,
this won't interfere with your business.
We'll be the perfect neighbors.
Isabella's right, as usual.
You are a serious man.
You have my consent, Mr. Félix.
Welcome to Tijuana.
Well, thank you.
I hope you won't be offended
if I offer you some insight, but...
the idea of Mexicans,
let alone Sinaloans, getting organized...
seems unlikely. No offense.
Yeah.
Just give me some time
and I'll change your mind.
You have
a lot of work ahead of you, friend.
Hmm? A lot.
A lot. Enjoy the party.
Alberto does what he likes.
What the fuck?
Seems everyone does in this place.
We're a long way from Sinaloa. Both of us.
Isabella, wait.
Mmm.
I forgot you're
the last decent man in Mexico.
Let's hope not.
I want to make some real money.
Thank you for your help.
I won't forget it.
Miguel Ángel...
if you can make this work, trust me,
I won't let you forget.
- You're up early.
- Oh, I couldn't sleep.
Thought you said there was nothing
in those trucks.
Just don't piss anyone off.
Well, that's what I do.
I'll check in later.
Just a little help for tonight.
Fucking bullshit.
Sons of bitches.
What the fuck, Rafa?
You fucking kidding, Rafa?
You've lost your mind.
Rafa, chill the fuck out.
God damn it.
Rafa, you're going to kill us all.
No fucking way! No fucking way, dude!
No fucking way, dude!
The little sneak hides the candy.
She found a stash in the laundry basket.
That little cheat. Just like her mom.
Hold on, honey.
The DFS is downstairs.
And the boss is here.
- I have to go, Maria.
- Miguel.
Avilés will listen to you.
Long as you tell him
what he wants to hear.
Yeah, talk to you later.
Kiss the babies for me.
Neto says you got these motherfuckers
to agree to this thing.
That's right.
They agreed to show up at least.
Truth is,
I never thought this shit would work.
- Yeah.
- But here we are.
Sir, there's one last thing to handle
in order for this to work.
You need to make amends with Pablo Acosta.
I have to do what?
What the fuck are you talking about?
I know it's difficult but...
it's the only way.
Just this last thing.
Once it's done, you'll control the largest
marijuana organization in Mexico.
Not just Mexico. In the entire world.
I knew this was a dumb idea.
Sir.
You just shake his hand,
say a couple of words and it's done.
And in return,
Acosta has to show you respect.
They all do.
They'll work for you.
You'll be king, Don Pedro.
I'll smooth things over with Acosta.
Thank you, sir.
I'll wait for you downstairs.
What's up, boys?
Fuck that.
So then, gentlemen, we are guaranteeing
protection for all your plazas.
With the agreement of every man here,
my boss, Pedro Avilés of Sinaloa,
Pablo Acosta of Ojinaga,
the Arellano Félix brothers from Tijuana,
our friend Gabino Salcido from Mazatlán,
Filemón Medina of Zacatecas,
Rene Verdugo from Nogales.
And of course the DFS, which will
coordinate security for our arrangement.
Today is an important day for all of us.
Gentlemen, we have our consortium.
Cheers!
Gentlemen...
this is a proud day to be Mexican.
I want to toast to the man
who made this possible...
brought us all together...
Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo,
our brother from Sinaloa. Cheers.
Cheers!
And I would like to say
that none of this could happen...
without the leadership of Pedro Avilés.
We owe you a lot. Thank you, Boss.
Thank you!
Bravo!
I have something to add.
I'm happy to proceed
with this fine arrangement.
With one small modification.
I've made it a practice in my life,
and in my work...
never... to work with a lying cocksucker.
So that means Pablo Acosta is out.
You hear me, motherfucker?
Get the fuck out of my consortium.
Boss, with all due respect,
without Juárez, there's no agreement.
If Juárez's going
to be undercutting our price...
my family's not interested.
Let's go.
Get the fuck out.
We don't need you.
Let's go.
You're coming back to Sinaloa
with me tonight, Miguelito.
I don't think city life
agrees with you, son.
Fuck.
- Ready?
- Fuck this.
Say the word, bro. We have guns too.
No.
Thanks for everything, Amado.
Take care of yourself, Don Neto.
Do me a favor.
Get this to my wife.
You got it.
It was a beautiful idea, Miguel Ángel.
What the fuck is happening? Let's go!
Get in the back.
Come by my place tomorrow.
You got it, Pedro.
Let's go.
Just tell my wife and my son
where I'm buried.
So the little son of a bitch
can catch up with me in ten years?
No, thanks.
Look.
Sometimes, it's better to know your place.
To just stay the fuck put.
You kidding me?
Fucking pigs.
Five hundred should do it.
Identification.
Call your boss if you want to know
who I am, asshole.
You. Hands on the wheel.
Hands on the wheel.
Get out of the car.
The three of you as well. Come on!
You guys are making a mistake.
How many mouths am I feeding tonight?
Hey! What the fuck!
Neto!
What the hell! What's going on?
I heard enough before I left.
And...
your friend...
tells me he can't do it without you.
No, wait.
Please.
Boss.
Grab the driver.
Get out, motherfucker. Come on!
You're from La Tuna, right?
Your name?
- Joaquín.
- We have a bunch of Joaquíns.
What else do they call you?
Chapo.
You want to work for me?
Okay, Chapo.
You and I are partners now.
You know what that means?
Yes.
Let's go.
- Still driving you to Sinaloa?
- No.
We're going back to Guadalajara.
Drop the gun.
Hey, don't move! Don't move!
Cuff him!
- Clear?
- Yes. All clear!
Gentlemen. Clear!
Let's bring it down. Let's go!
Let's go.
Wow. These guys, uh...
they didn't put up much of a fight.
How much, you think?
250 pounds.
Not more. Maybe a little less.
Same as they give us every month.
So this is a set-up?
It's more like a donation.
Locals get a win,
a little piece of the action.
Everyone's happy.
Poor fella.
I'm gonna see if I can calm him down.
Butch is a horse man.
More of a ladies man myself.
Kiki.
Come look at this.
Entry wounds are at least a day old.
But our friend the captain says
that they just shot them
when they were trying to escape.
Sounds like more fish stories for
the gringos.
Excuse me.
Go ahead, Captain.
Recognize him, Jaime?
Hernan Naranjo.
He runs a lot of the Guadalajara trade.
We found his brother dead yesterday at
the Hotel Americas.
Really?
Someone's moving on
their territory?
Let's walk.
Yeah, there's not much rhyme or reason
in the pecking order around here, Kiki.
Just backwood dirtbags
growing ditch weed on half an acre
and every once in a while
killing each other.
Best we can do is hold tight
and ride through the bullshit.
Take what they give us.
Motherfuckers.
Sorry, bud.
Ain't like you could've rode her home.
Life 101.
All plants, even marijuana,
exist to make seeds.
But sinsemilla flips that on its head.
Starts with a female plant that flowers
without ever being pollinated.
Kind of like the immaculate conception.
But instead of baby Jesus,
you get bigger buds,
packing more THC,
making it the gold standard of
Mexican dope.
But cross-pollination
can ruin an entire crop,
so growing it outside is impossible
unless you're in the middle of a desert,
which presents its own challenges...
'cause it's a fucking desert.
Rafa, you have a call.
They're dying, Cuco.
They're waiting, brother.
Manuel! What are you doing, asshole?
- Put that shit away.
- Yeah, Rafa.
What the fuck are you doing, idiot?
We're growing the shit, not smoking it.
Fucking weed.
Yeah.
- What's wrong with the weed?
- That geologist was full of shit.
There's not enough water, Miguel.
So find some, Rafael.
We're setting up the biggest marijuana
distribution network
in the history of Mexico.
It won't mean shit if we don't have weed.
Fix this, brother.
This the pilot?
Amado, my nephew.
Has a good head on his shoulders.
Worked as a cop for awhile.
Been helping me out.
- Hey! You have a license?
- Sure, man.
What kind you looking for?
Let's go.
How's the plantation?
Great.
Weed up to your eyeballs.
First Juárez,
then I'll tell you where's next.
Looking back,
even knowing how it all turned out,
it's still hard to comprehend the scale
of Miguel Félix Gallardo's dream.
The fucking audacity of it.
But if you're gonna try, you need to know
that before the cartels existed,
things worked differently in Mexico.
The narcotics game was made
of lone wolf traffickers,
mostly Sinaloans,
who purchased permission from the cops
to run drugs
in a particular city or territory.
MEXICO
They called it the Plaza System.
MEXICO CITY
GUADALAJARA
Here's how it worked:
Anyone looking to do business
in the territory
had to cut in the plaza boss,
pay him a piso, or a toll.
And if they chose not to, trust me,
the boss made his displeasure known.
each plaza stood alone,
was its own world,
run by a certified asshole
who'd done enough dirt to get crowned
king of that particular piece of turf.
The job tended to attract
hard motherfuckers.
So a scheme to convince
a bunch of rival plazas,
led by trigger-happy sociopaths,
to work together,
take direction from some other dirtbag?
Yeah, right.
Good luck, friend.
I mean it.
The baby's fine.
Mama needs a foot massage.
Okay.
We should find out the sex.
It gives you a little time to
wrap your head around another boy.
Oh, what makes you so sure
it's another boy?
Oh, come on.
Come on. I don't need to hear about
what a man you are
and neither does our future daughter.
I want to use the same formula
we gave Kikito.
They can send it from Texas,
but it'll cost more.
- You listening to me?
- Yeah.
The doctors here are good
and the formula isn't.
Oh, I missed my turn. Hold up.
Where the hell are we?
Uh...
What are you doing?
Hold up, hold on.
Are you following someone?
No, uh... Sears told me
that there's a good birria place nearby.
I, uh... I must have heard wrong.
Jesus, Kiki. On the way home from the OB?
You never know when
you're gonna get lucky, right?
Just don't get lucky when
you're picking up Kikito from school.
Set the table for dinner.
Hey, that means make the table.
We're going to speak more Spanish, Kikito.
- Huh? Good luck.
- You're not staying for dinner?
No, I gotta get back to the office, babe.
Kikito, where are your binoculars?
Perfect.
SCHOOL OF GEOLOGY
And this is what makes the difference
between permeable
and impermeable surfaces.
Class is over.
Didn't you hear, pussies?
Get moving! Get the fuck out of here! Go!
Fast. Move.
Come on. Let's go!
Hurry up! Move it!
Come on! Let's go!
My babies are dying.
Because of you, asshole.
What's up?
What's up, Pablo?
Are the beers cold?
You look fatter, Don Neto.
- think so?
- Yeah.
Problem in town?
Nah, man.
You're proposing a monopoly.
We're producing more than anyone else.
With good distribution,
we'll dominate the market.
Once we control it, we set a fixed price.
Our price.
On top of that, we don't have to
worry about getting undercut.
More profits will come.
And little by little, more stability.
Hmm.
Like how the Arabs do, right?
OPEC for weed.
There you go. More or less.
And with control, there won't be violence.
Only works if every plaza signs up.
Yeah.
We just need the important ones.
Most of them we know.
- Sinaloans.
- Yeah.
Like blondy here.
Wandering motherfuckers.
They're everywhere.
Fucking Jews of the mountains.
No. We do business with any man
we trust and respect.
Even if he's from a shit-stain
like Ojinaga.
- Hey! Don't pull too much! Slowly!
- Yes, boss.
That nag cost me
a lot of fucking money, that asshole.
You might have concerns.
Why don't you come to our meeting
in Guadalajara?
See what we can achieve together.
You seem like a smart man, Miguel Ángel.
My problem is...
your boss.
He's not very smart.
Pedro Avilés is not a man
you can do business with.
We've had bad blood
over some bullshit for years.
No, man.
I don't think it would work.
I don't accept.
I'm aware of your dispute. In fact...
he asked me to let you know
he regrets his part in it.
Look...
those were his words.
"Tell him that it's time to move forward."
That's what he said.
I'll come to Guadalajara,
sit down with Avilés, the others.
But if I don't see proof
you got the cops on board
to grease this fucking OPEC thing?
That'd be all.
That's enough.
Okay then, brother.
That's nice.
Nice, huh?
- Does the date, too?
- Yeah.
Actually, to celebrate the beginning
of this new venture, here you go.
Check it out.
Like that, smooth.
Like to be there when you tell Pedro
he has to kiss Acosta's dusty ass.
What else could I do?
You couldn't have told me
about the bad blood?
I was sent to make introductions. You want
a history lesson, buy a fucking book.
- You don't give a shit, do you?
- What's there to give a shit about?
You know what this can be, for all of us.
I also know when you start
moving furniture around,
people stub their toes and get upset.
We have to grow.
Otherwise, life does
whatever the fuck it wants with you.
It always does, sunshine.
Fuck you, old man.
Okay?
Enough. Pick a side already.
So this super farm, it's ready?
'Cause just laying irrigation in
would take months, no?
Yeah.
What Acosta doesn't know won't hurt him.
You disagree?
No. You got balls, man.
- The watch was a cool touch.
- Right?
- Yeah.
- Fake.
So, enough weed to supply
the American market for a year.
Right on.
And then?
What?
You going to get all that product across
in trucks, or what?
Yeah.
Planes, man.
A shitload of planes.
That's the future.
Félix's dream was
to create a union of Mexican traffickers.
GUADALAJARA
To make good on that, he had to sign up
enough bosses from the right plazas.
And that meant convincing
some of the scariest dudes in Mexico
to work together for once.
Shit wasn't easy.
But Félix grew up in Sinaloa.
He understood these guys.
And he'd done his homework.
That meant knowing which asshole
responded to flattery...
and which just wanted to hear
the fucking numbers.
But there was one thing each
and every one of them needed to know:
That this idea of his was blessed
by the powers that be.
'Cause without that in Mexico,
you got nothing.
Tell your boss to come to
Guadalajara for the meeting.
Our new partners want to make sure
the DFS is on board.
The director will be there.
His time better not be wasted.
Who is he?
Nobody. Some ex-cop from Sinaloa.
Smarter than the others, though.
DIRECTORATE GENERAL
The official name
was the Federal Security Directorate,
known in Mexico as the DFS.
Their emblem was a tiger, 'cause why not?
Tigers are cool.
The tiger is a powerful animal
that doesn't fear danger.
That's how an agent from the Federal
Security Directorate should be.
Came up with their
own anthem. Shit too weird to make up.
After World War II,
Mexico's new president
was eager to attract U.S. investment,
which meant picking a side
in the Cold War.
To prove Mexico could get tough on Ivan,
the DFS was created,
which basically meant if the CIA
needed shit done in Mexico, DFS did it.
Tapping phones, keeping an eye
on Soviet and Cuban diplomats,
and making sure any opposition
to the ruling PRI party was kept in check.
Think Kent State was bad?
When students gathered in 1968
to protest all the money being spent
on the Mexico City Olympics,
the DFS showed up too...
and killed hundreds of unarmed civilians.
NIGHT OF HORROR IN TLATELOLCO!
Apparently that qualified them to provide
security for visiting American diplomats.
Carrying a DFS badge was
a license to extort, traffick, murder...
basically do whatever the fuck you wanted,
which is why Félix needed them on board.
These were the guys everyone
was scared of.
What you're saying is that...
the desert sits
on these moving Frisbee things...
and we just need to keep looking.
Geology is an inexact science.
Hopefully.
Hold up, Rafa!
This pussy's saying we have to re-dig
more fucking holes to find water?
- No!
- No fucking way!
Do you know anything about aquifers?
Or about confining beds?
Then you shut the fuck up
and go dig holes, asshole! Come on!
- Go fuck yourself.
- Let's go, motherfuckers.
Let's go.
Grab your things. Come with me.
Let's measure. You better find my water.
How long you been sitting on 'em?
Just a few days.
There's traffickers
just going in and out, in and out.
Look at it.
Business is booming.
Look at the license plates.
Zacatecas, Sonora, Baja California.
I mean, all out of state.
They're pushing drugs out
and bringing cash back in.
- We gotta move on it.
- We gotta move on it?
- Yes, sir.
- We gotta move on it?
- You're guessing. This is a guess.
- No. It all adds up.
You have any idea what it takes
to get the MFJP up for a raid this size?
I mean,
it's like teaching a cat to play fetch.
Make them do their job, sir.
Instead of taking that monthly donation...
fucking take whatever
they don't want us to have.
Let's see if you're right.
You wanna know
how fucked up Mexico is?
The hard part wasn't running a raid.
It was getting
the MFJP off their asses to do it.
First, you had to wait for
the right commander to come on duty.
- How's it going?
- Hey.
- Good luck!
- Thank you.
Hey, guys.
Then for him to hear you out...
...you had to share enough
to make sense, but not give it all away.
The trucks will be rolling heavy
and we can hit them easy.
It'd be a solid bust for you with the DF.
Real nice opportunity for you
and your boys.
"Opportunity" being MFJP code
for "a chance to score off the seizure."
It was truly an art, wrangling
federales into just doing their jobs.
POLICE
Nobody in front of me, gentlemen.
- Got it?
- Yes, got it.
I'd get to those trucks
as fast as you fucking can.
Don't move, motherfucker! Don't move!
Hey! On the ground!
Down!
Keep going. Keep going.
Down! On the ground!
Clear!
- Police!
- Drop your weapons.
Lower your guns. Search the place.
- I need a bolt cutter.
- Let's get him some bolt cutters.
Let's do it.
Fuck.
Round up everyone.
Charge them with possession
of dangerous plastic pipe.
I'm sure in America you strike fear
into plumbers everywhere.
Don't waste my time again.
Let's go.
Well, damn, Kiki.
I think he likes you.
He's mad
because he had to do his fucking job.
This place is dirty as fuck.
Hey, man...
you need to slow down.
Sir, if there's nothing to it,
then why is he guarding this place with...
Because this pipe's expensive
and they'll steal anything here.
But you don't know that
because you're new and you're pressing.
I know you came here to make cases,
but it ain't gonna happen in a day.
Let's go.
Fucking drill.
TIJUANA, BAJA CALIFORNIA
- Is it here?
- Yeah, here.
- There he is.
- Yeah.
What's up, Benjamín?
How's it going?
Miguel Ángel. Gentlemen.
- You just gonna sit here or what?
- No, let's go.
Looks like you don't miss Culiacán.
"El otro lado" is 3 blocks away.
Any asshole with a truck
can make good money.
- Electronics?
- Yeah.
Japanese shit. Designer jeans.
Some dope here and there.
Hey, 'Mon!
- Where you going?
- What?
Pancho said I could get an ice cream.
"Pancho said."
Those TVs aren't gonna move themselves.
You're gonna get fat, little bastard.
Come on, dude!
So, partner with Pedro Avilés.
Yeah.
And we all get rich.
No more blue jeans and toaster ovens.
I'll talk to my brothers,
but I'm interested.
If it's how you say.
But only if it's cool with El Cubano.
- Talking about Sicilia Falcón?
- Yeah.
He sells coke to movie stars.
What does he care?
He made me and my brothers
welcome in Tijuana.
I won't do anything that pisses him off.
That's okay, bro. I'll speak with him,
make sure there's no misunderstandings.
This isn't Sinaloa, man. Falcón's slick.
He hangs with big shots. Connected people.
I know someone who can arrange a meeting.
You can find people from Sinaloa anywhere.
- Miguel Ángel.
- Hi.
- It's been so long.
- Rodolfo's 18th birthday, I think.
This is Ernesto Fonseca Carrillo,
and his nephew Amado.
Amado Carrillo Fuentes. Pilot.
Isabella Bautista. My pleasure.
Hey. Is that Lucia Morales?
Yes.
She's going to sing for us later.
Maybe you can tell her you're a pilot.
Fuck, yeah.
- Come on. I'll take you to meet Alberto.
- We'll be back.
All right. Good evening.
Cheers! Cheers, guys!
You fit right in with these people.
No. I'm good at pretending.
Whoo!
- Rich people can't get enough of the shit.
- Yeah. They never get enough.
The margins are unbelievable.
Juan Matta Ballesteros.
Owns the top airline in Honduras.
Handles transportation for the Colombians.
Could introduce you.
No.
Cocaine's tricky.
It's still a niche business.
Colombians only move real weight
through the Bahamas.
But your Cuban friend, he's the real deal.
- He must be doing something right.
- Yeah.
Now it's our time to build an empire.
Is that what we're doing?
It's okay, Tony. We are with friends.
Hey, Tony.
Tell Mr. Félix here how many men
you killed in Vietnam.
Not enough, Mr. Falcón.
He said "not enough."
Your home's very beautiful.
- Thank you for seeing me.
- Anything for Isabella.
This must be serious.
Your friend and I are the only two here
who aren't drinking.
Miguel Ángel worked
as a bodyguard for my uncle.
He was the only one
who'd play with us kids.
But only after his shift was done.
He's a serious man.
Maybe he'll play with you now.
If you ask nicely.
I'm here on business.
Yes, I know.
You want to move Sinaloan weed
through Tijuana
using the Arellano Félix boys.
Tried the Colombian shit before?
Once or twice.
Bullshit.
Ay.
See that, uncle?
Its balls look just like yours.
Asshole!
Uncle!
- What's up with those Chinese fuckers?
- They're going to fuck each other up.
What a fucking party, man.
Holy shit!
It's a different business than yours.
We won't be in competition with you.
Now that's a relief.
It's good for everyone.
One single organization...
that would control all the cultivation
and distribution of marijuana in Mexico,
which means less violence...
less bullshit.
I give you my word,
this won't interfere with your business.
We'll be the perfect neighbors.
Isabella's right, as usual.
You are a serious man.
You have my consent, Mr. Félix.
Welcome to Tijuana.
Well, thank you.
I hope you won't be offended
if I offer you some insight, but...
the idea of Mexicans,
let alone Sinaloans, getting organized...
seems unlikely. No offense.
Yeah.
Just give me some time
and I'll change your mind.
You have
a lot of work ahead of you, friend.
Hmm? A lot.
A lot. Enjoy the party.
Alberto does what he likes.
What the fuck?
Seems everyone does in this place.
We're a long way from Sinaloa. Both of us.
Isabella, wait.
Mmm.
I forgot you're
the last decent man in Mexico.
Let's hope not.
I want to make some real money.
Thank you for your help.
I won't forget it.
Miguel Ángel...
if you can make this work, trust me,
I won't let you forget.
- You're up early.
- Oh, I couldn't sleep.
Thought you said there was nothing
in those trucks.
Just don't piss anyone off.
Well, that's what I do.
I'll check in later.
Just a little help for tonight.
Fucking bullshit.
Sons of bitches.
What the fuck, Rafa?
You fucking kidding, Rafa?
You've lost your mind.
Rafa, chill the fuck out.
God damn it.
Rafa, you're going to kill us all.
No fucking way! No fucking way, dude!
No fucking way, dude!
The little sneak hides the candy.
She found a stash in the laundry basket.
That little cheat. Just like her mom.
Hold on, honey.
The DFS is downstairs.
And the boss is here.
- I have to go, Maria.
- Miguel.
Avilés will listen to you.
Long as you tell him
what he wants to hear.
Yeah, talk to you later.
Kiss the babies for me.
Neto says you got these motherfuckers
to agree to this thing.
That's right.
They agreed to show up at least.
Truth is,
I never thought this shit would work.
- Yeah.
- But here we are.
Sir, there's one last thing to handle
in order for this to work.
You need to make amends with Pablo Acosta.
I have to do what?
What the fuck are you talking about?
I know it's difficult but...
it's the only way.
Just this last thing.
Once it's done, you'll control the largest
marijuana organization in Mexico.
Not just Mexico. In the entire world.
I knew this was a dumb idea.
Sir.
You just shake his hand,
say a couple of words and it's done.
And in return,
Acosta has to show you respect.
They all do.
They'll work for you.
You'll be king, Don Pedro.
I'll smooth things over with Acosta.
Thank you, sir.
I'll wait for you downstairs.
What's up, boys?
Fuck that.
So then, gentlemen, we are guaranteeing
protection for all your plazas.
With the agreement of every man here,
my boss, Pedro Avilés of Sinaloa,
Pablo Acosta of Ojinaga,
the Arellano Félix brothers from Tijuana,
our friend Gabino Salcido from Mazatlán,
Filemón Medina of Zacatecas,
Rene Verdugo from Nogales.
And of course the DFS, which will
coordinate security for our arrangement.
Today is an important day for all of us.
Gentlemen, we have our consortium.
Cheers!
Gentlemen...
this is a proud day to be Mexican.
I want to toast to the man
who made this possible...
brought us all together...
Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo,
our brother from Sinaloa. Cheers.
Cheers!
And I would like to say
that none of this could happen...
without the leadership of Pedro Avilés.
We owe you a lot. Thank you, Boss.
Thank you!
Bravo!
I have something to add.
I'm happy to proceed
with this fine arrangement.
With one small modification.
I've made it a practice in my life,
and in my work...
never... to work with a lying cocksucker.
So that means Pablo Acosta is out.
You hear me, motherfucker?
Get the fuck out of my consortium.
Boss, with all due respect,
without Juárez, there's no agreement.
If Juárez's going
to be undercutting our price...
my family's not interested.
Let's go.
Get the fuck out.
We don't need you.
Let's go.
You're coming back to Sinaloa
with me tonight, Miguelito.
I don't think city life
agrees with you, son.
Fuck.
- Ready?
- Fuck this.
Say the word, bro. We have guns too.
No.
Thanks for everything, Amado.
Take care of yourself, Don Neto.
Do me a favor.
Get this to my wife.
You got it.
It was a beautiful idea, Miguel Ángel.
What the fuck is happening? Let's go!
Get in the back.
Come by my place tomorrow.
You got it, Pedro.
Let's go.
Just tell my wife and my son
where I'm buried.
So the little son of a bitch
can catch up with me in ten years?
No, thanks.
Look.
Sometimes, it's better to know your place.
To just stay the fuck put.
You kidding me?
Fucking pigs.
Five hundred should do it.
Identification.
Call your boss if you want to know
who I am, asshole.
You. Hands on the wheel.
Hands on the wheel.
Get out of the car.
The three of you as well. Come on!
You guys are making a mistake.
How many mouths am I feeding tonight?
Hey! What the fuck!
Neto!
What the hell! What's going on?
I heard enough before I left.
And...
your friend...
tells me he can't do it without you.
No, wait.
Please.
Boss.
Grab the driver.
Get out, motherfucker. Come on!
You're from La Tuna, right?
Your name?
- Joaquín.
- We have a bunch of Joaquíns.
What else do they call you?
Chapo.
You want to work for me?
Okay, Chapo.
You and I are partners now.
You know what that means?
Yes.
Let's go.
- Still driving you to Sinaloa?
- No.
We're going back to Guadalajara.