The Furious (火遮眼)

Hey,

I fell asleep in front of the TV waiting for you.

Are you coming home tonight?

Or should I just go to bed alone?

Do you remember the noodle stand downtown?

That little street kid heard us arguing

and he kept trying to sell you flowers to make up with me?

Yeah.

That boy went missing a week ago.

I'm leaving the van near there.

Why?

I love you, Navin, but I have to go.

I haven't seen you in days, Matia.

Just come home--

Hey! She's there!

Run!

Run! Go! Go! Go!

What a waste.

That boy is dead because of you.

Doesn't matter. I'll just pick up another one, you know?

Fuck. It's late.

I got to get home to my wife. Hey, take her downstairs.

I want to know how she got in here.

- Thank you. - Thank you.

-Bye-bye. -Bye-bye.

I have good news.

Found you a buyer out of Eastport.

A rich one.

How many?

Thank you.

Three's a piece of cake.

Thirty.

I need a favor.

Get me a meeting with your boss.

Can you do that?

See you.

Matia Pham alleged a connection

between numerous kidnapping cases

in a livestream to her followers

shortly before her disappearance

earlier this year.

The police want to treat these cases

like isolated incidents,

but if you take a step back

to look at these families' social and economic status,

and the neighborhoods where these kids go missing,

there is an obvious pattern.

I'm talking about a coordinated effort

to target kids

from some of the city's poorest communities.

Asked about Pham's allegations,

a law enforcement...

...spokesperson told our reporter that,

as a matter of policy,

the agency will not comment on ongoing investigations.

Coming up: A breakthrough in renewable energy

that will power your home at half the cost.

I have good news.

Found you a buyer out of Eastport.

A rich one.

Get him inside!

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!

Hey!

Hey! Grab her, idiot!

Faster, faster!

Sir? You're bleeding on my counter.

If you've had an accident,

there's a hospital down the street.

"Big bald guy..."

If you need to report a crime,

take a seat over there.

Okay?

There's always time, sir.

Just slow down--

Hey! Don't do that again! Okay?

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

Something about a kidnapping. But I told him to wait.

Come with me.

What the hell is going on around here?

Captain, this man's daughter's been kidnapped.

He's got a license plate and a perp description.

It doesn't look like a report to me.

Look,

we have procedures here.

I'll hang on to this.

If we come over something, my guys will get a hold of you.

No driver's license.

No employment history.

No criminal record.

Like he appeared out of thin air.

Probably a fugitive.

Who are you?

Stop. Stop.

Go!

Keep the boss in a good mood,

he'll agree to anything. Just be cool.

Have a drink, enjoy the girls.

Hey!

Get up, big boy!

I brought a guest.

Hi.

Mm-hmm.

Uh-oh.

Hold on a minute.

You stay.

Stop!

Mr. Song.

Finally, a man that might know how to get me what I want.

-Sit. -Thank you.

Ah... So...

You want...

- Thirty for the weekend? - Longer.

That's some kind of big party, huh?

It's not a party. Shrimp boats.

My partner does business in Eastport.

Thirty kids. That's, uh...

Shit, that's like shipping a fucking school bus, man.

We understand.

That's why we're offering you a very good deal.

Three times the market price.

All in cash. USD?

All cash. USD.

With one small requirement, Mr. Song.

I have to hand-pick them myself.

Ah, that's not gonna work, cowboy.

Well... commercial fishing is a competitive industry.

I need your best, and I just have to make sure.

So, let me get this straight.

You want to come...

to my spot, right?

Shop around like it's, uh, some fruit stand...

and then pay me later?

Who the fuck are you? What do you want?

If you're a cop, you're either new

or too stupid to be on my payroll.

Mr. Song...

Let me put it this way.

I'm just a messenger here.

My partner's waiting for me,

and you're wasting my fucking time...

Boss.

His fucking time.

Your fucking time.

Your fucking time?

I like you!

If you want to pick 'em, cowboy...

I'll take you there myself.

-Let's go! -All right. Sit down! Party!

Hey, slow down there, man.

Hey, this is a private party. Hey!

Listen, buddy, it's invitation-only up here.

-Turn around. -Fuck off!

Okay...

Hey! Hey! Hey!

He's got a gun!

Come on! You want money?

Kill him! Go fucking kill him!

Mr. Song, that's got nothing to do with me. I--

Kill this fucker! Now!

Mr. Song! Mr. Song!

Fuck!

Enjoy the party, asshole!

Fucking asshole!

Who are you?

Huh?

All right.

Wait!

I'm not one of them.

Okay?

You're looking for someone.

So am I.

We've gotta get out of here. Come on!

I can't give you this, okay?

But I can show you what's on it, all right?

You vouched for a rat.

Boss, please.

Come here, boy.

Watch your father die.

You know the drill. Freeze this bastard.

No! I'm sorry! Boss!

Boss, I'm sorry!

Father said the bad ones get punished.

Hey! Hey! Enough, big guy.

Your father wants them shipped out alive.

You know you ruined two months of my hard work, right?

At least say something.

Enough with the quiet, tough guy act.

What are you?

A mute?

Huh? You know him?

Song picked him up young.

Threw him into the ring between rounds as a joke.

He's a poster boy for head trauma.

This guy. Mr. Song.

You know him, too?

Come with me.

Sorry about the mess.

I've kinda been living back here.

Mr. Song is the biggest human trafficker in the city.

My wife is a journalist.