see that?
- She's cold.
She got colder
as soon as she saw us.
- Ah, come on, don't start.
- Man, look around you, man.
You couldn't find a whiter, safer
or better-lit part of this city right now.
But yet this white woman
sees two black guys
who look like UCLA students
strolling down the sidewalk,
and her reaction
is blind fear?
Look at us, dawg.
Are we dressed like gangbangers?
Huh? No.
Do we look threatening? No.
Fact. If anybody should be
scared around here, it's us!
We're the only two black faces surrounded by
a sea of over-caffeinated white people
patrolled by
the trigger-happy L.A.P.D.
So you tell me.
Why aren't we scared?
'Cause we got guns?
You could be right.
- Get the fuck outta the car!
- Gimme the keys!
- Hurry up! Get down!
- Okay, okay, okay, okay.
- No, no! Please!
- Don't look at me! Turn around!
- Come on! Go!
- We're fine! Just keep moving!
No, no, no! Take that voodoo-assed thing
off of there right now.
I know you just didn't call
Saint Christopher voodoo.
Man's the patron saint
of travelers, dawg.
You had a conversation
with God, huh? What did God say?
"Go forth, my son, and leave big slobbery
suction rings on every dashboard you find"?
Why the hell do you do that?
Look at the way your crazy ass drive,
then ask me again.
Chevy pickup and Mercedes
driving north on Balboa.
Pickup cuts in front. Driver of the Mercedes
gets pissed, pulls a gun.
Doesn't realize the guy in the pickup
is a cop coming off shift.
This Barry Gibb dude is a cop?
Yeah. Name's Conklin.
He's a narc out of Wilshire.
I got the Mercedes.
Mercedes takes a shot at him.
Detective Conklin returns fire. One shot.
Mercedes rolls to a stop. Driver opens the
door, falls out dead.
He looks very relaxed
for just having shot somebody.
He says he kept tryin'
to drive away.
The Mercedes kept pulling up next to him,
screaming, waving a gun.
Shot back in self-defense.
- Anybody actually see who shot first?
- They just heard two bangs.
Find me a witness.
That is a nice gun.
The car's registered
to a Cindy Bradley.
And that's not Cindy.
That is a William Lewis.
Found under the front seat.
Hollywood Division.
Looks like Detective Conklin
shot himself the wrong nigger.
- How much longer are you gonna be?
- This is the last one.
Thank you.
You don't think reporters listen to police calls?
I need to talk to you
for a second.
You just give me a minute,
all right?
- Find Flanagan, will you? Now.
- Yes, sir.
Yes, honey?
I want the locks changed again in the morning.
You want... Why don't you just go lie down?
Have you checked on James?
Of course. I've checked on him every five
minutes since we've been home.
Do not patronize me. I want the locks
changed again in the morning.
It's okay.
Just go to bed.
You know, didn't I just ask you
not to treat me like a child?
I'm sorry, Miss Jean.
Is okay I go home now?
It's fine. Thank you
very much for staying.
You're welcome. No problem.
Good night.
- Good night.
- We'll see you tomorrow.
I would like the locks
changed again in the morning.
And you might mention
that we'd appreciate it
if next time they didn't send
a gang member.
- A gang member? You mean that kid in there?
- Yes, yes.
Yes. The guy with the shaved head,
the pants around his ass, the prison tattoo.
- Those are not prison tattoos.
- Oh, really?
And he's not gonna sell our key
to one of his gangbanger friends
- the moment he is out our door?
- We've had a tough night.
- It'd be best if you went upstairs...
- And wait for them to break in?
I just had a gun pointed in my face.
You lower your voice!
And it was my fault
because I knew it was gonna happen.
But if a white person sees two black men
walking towards her,
and she turns and walks in the other direction,
she's a racist, right?
Well, I got scared
and I didn't say anything.
And ten seconds later
I had a gun in my face!
I am telling you. Your amigo in there is gonna
sell