Banana Fish: Retrograde Light — Ash Lynx Cuts Fate
*"You can still make it in time. Stop Banana Fish."*
Ash Lynx wakes from a dream of his own death—blood on his tongue, warmth fading from someone's arms, a quiet breath at twenty-three. But he's seventeen, running a gang of street kids in Harlem, and the dead don't get second chances. So why does the photograph by his pillow show a young man he's never met? Why does the handwriting on the back know about a drug that's supposed to be nothing bu
BANANA FISH: Retrograde Light — Ash Lynx Cuts Fate - Gunshots in the Warehouse District — A Domain That Should Not Be Entered —
The smell of blood still lingers deep in his nose.
Ash Lynx stood by the window of the dim hideout. Second floor of a ruined building in Harlem. The windows were boarded shut, morning light leaking through the gaps in thin slivers. Dusty air. Sirens wailing in the distance.
Four days had passed since Shorter disappeared.
Last night, the dream came again.
Eiji, collapsed and covered in blood. Red pouring from his stomach, his white shirt soaked crimson. Eiji's hands, growing cold. That sensation still clung to his fingertips.
Ash opened and closed his right hand.
"Bones, Kong. What's the word on the warehouse district?"
He asked without turning around.
"There are three warehouses along the Harlem River that Corsica's outfit is rumored to use. The one farthest back looks the most suspicious. Two black cars pulled in last night."
Bones, thin and short, pointed at the map on the wall. Red pins clustered along the industrial stretch of the Harlem River.
"Three guards. They rotate every four hours. Two entrances — front and back. All the windows are boarded up."
Kong, the big man with short black hair, crossed his thick arms. His hands bore fresh scrapes from last night's stakeout.
Ash stared at the map in silence.
The Harlem River.
The river that runs along Manhattan's east side. Abandoned warehouses line its banks. Officially they belong to trading companies. What goes on inside, nobody knows. The police don't come near. It's a dangerous place.
"I'm going alone."
Ash said.
"Going alone is dangerous. Let us—"
"You two wait outside. I'll signal if anything happens. I'm enough to handle the inside."
There was an edge in Ash's voice that left no room for argument.
Bones and Kong exchanged a look.
"...Fine. But don't do anything reckless."
"Yeah."
Ash pulled on his black leather jacket and slid a butterfly knife into his pocket. Inside the jacket was that photograph. An old black-and-white photo of a young Asian man.
—You can still make it in time. Stop Banana Fish.
The young man in the photo. Okumura Eiji.
A Japanese photographer's assistant he'd met in Chinatown.
Big eyes. Soft black hair. A straight, honest gaze.
And that reckless question.
"Why are you in a place like this?"
Those words had been lodged in Ash's chest ever since.
Ash opened the door.
Outside was overcast. Low clouds hung heavy, the sky ready to break into rain at any moment. Damp wind carried the smell of garbage and exhaust.
He headed for the subway station.
The streets of Harlem were already crowded in the morning. Fruit vendors. Vagrants sprawled on cardboard. Walls covered in flashy spray art. Needles on the pavement.
New York. 1985.
A city where money and violence did the talking.
He passed through the turnstile and dropped in ninety cents. Down on the platform, damp heat and the stench of urine hit his nose. In the few minutes before the train came, Ash leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
—Shorter.
—Are you still alive?
Something cold crept through his chest.
That prophetic dream. Himself dying at twenty-three. The taste of blood. Fingers going cold. And Shorter's death.
The dream wasn't just a dream.
From the night that photograph appeared, Ash had been certain. This was a warning. A warning sent from the future by someone.
The train arrived.
Ash boarded and stood near the door. The car was nearly empty. A man in a suit read a newspaper. A young woman touched up her makeup. No one looked at Ash.
Blond hair. Green eyes. A piercing in his left ear.
In this city, a conspicuous appearance invites danger. But Ash always carried an air that kept people at a distance. A cold aura, like a blade that cuts anyone who touches it.
The train pulled into a station near the Harlem River.
Ash got off.
When he stepped out of the station, the air changed. The smell of the river. Rusted iron, oil, and stagnant water. Few people on the street.
The warehouse district was close.
Ash walked.
He turned down an alley, cut through a narrow path. Graffiti on the walls. Piled garbage bags. A cat sat watching him, perfectly still.
—Someone's watching me.
That feeling had been with him since he left the hideout.
Ash stopped.
He turned around.
No one.
He thought he saw a black shadow shift at the far end of the alley.
"...Just my imagination."
Ash muttered under his breath and walked on.
Meanwhile.
Hotel Avalon, Midtown Manhattan.
Okumura Eiji was wiping down a camera lens.
"Eiji, about today's schedule—"
Ibe Shunichi spoke while looking at the map spread across the bed. A Japanese photographer in his early forties. Stubble on his chin, a wrinkled shirt. Eiji's big brother figure, and the man in charge of this assignment.
"Yes. Chinatown market in the morning, then street scenes downtown in the afternoon."
Eiji looked up.
Big eyes. Soft black hair. A boyish face.
A Japanese college student, come to New York as a photographer's assistant. His English was intermediate at best. But his eyes were always direct — he had a stubbornness that made him look straight at things.
"Right. But after what happened yesterday, don't go near any dangerous places."
A note of worry crept into Ibe's voice.
Yesterday. In Chinatown, Eiji had gotten caught up in a street kid brawl.
A blond boy had stepped in and saved him.
That boy.
Blond hair, green eyes, looked younger than Eiji.
And yet he'd commanded the whole scene in an instant.
"You okay?"
That voice. Those eyes.
Eiji couldn't get the boy out of his head.
"Ibe-san, um, about that blond kid from yesterday—"
Eiji said.
"Ah, that kid. What about him?"
"Is he famous around here? I feel like someone said he's the boss of the street kids."
Ibe thought for a moment, then spoke.
"Ash Lynx. He runs the street kids in downtown New York. Only seventeen, but they say he's a genius with an IQ of 180. Even the police can't handle him. ...Eiji, don't get involved with that kid."
"Don't get involved? Why?"
"That kid stands in the most dangerous place in this city. Danger follows him everywhere. If you get caught up in it, you won't walk away unscathed."
Ibe's voice was dead serious.
Eiji went quiet.
Danger.
Sure, there was a dangerous air around that boy.
But that wasn't all.
There was something else in those eyes.
Something lonely. Something resigned. And yet, something crying out to be saved.
That's how it looked to Eiji.
"...I want to see him again."
Eiji said quietly.
"Eiji!"
"Ibe-san, please. He's carrying something all alone. I can't just leave him be."
Eiji's eyes were unwavering.
Ibe let out a deep sigh.
"...You really are stubborn."
"Sorry."
"After today's work is done, just a little while. I'm coming with you."
"Thank you!"
Eiji's face lit up.
Morning.
Chinatown market.
Following Ibe's instructions, Eiji was shooting the crowds.
Signs in Chinese characters. Red lanterns. The smell of grilled fish, soy sauce, and herbal medicine. Chinese restaurants and general stores packed into narrow alleys.
"Eiji, that stall owner over there — great face, right? Ask if you can shoot him."
"Yes!"
Eiji raised his camera.
Through the viewfinder, the stall owner was laughing. Steam rising from a pot. Piled vegetables. The banter between customer and owner.
He pressed the shutter.
Click.
That's when a few boys caught the corner of his vision.
Street kids.
Somewhere between pre-teen and mid-teens. Dirty clothes. Sharp eyes. Watching the market crowd from the shadows of the alley.
Eiji pointed his camera at them.
—Is it okay to shoot?
He hesitated.
They weren't a tourist attraction. They weren't exotic animals.
They were kids, surviving in this city with everything they had.
Would pointing a camera at them hurt them?
Eiji's finger froze over the shutter button.
"Hey, mister. What're you shooting?"
A voice called out.
He turned. A small Black boy stood there. Twelve, maybe thirteen.
"Oh, um, the market scene—"
Eiji hurriedly lowered the camera.
"Huh. Japanese? A photographer?"
"Photographer's assistant."
"Assistant, huh. Must be rough. Walking around this city with a camera is putting your life on the line."
The boy spoke with an adult's tone.
Eiji looked into his eyes.
Sharp eyes. But behind them, a child's curiosity still remained.
"You live around here?"
"Yeah. We live around here. You're the Japanese guy Ash saved in Chinatown yesterday, right?"
"Wait, you know about that?"
"Know about it? I was there. Name's Skip. I'm one of Ash's guys."
Skip grinned.
"You're one of Ash's friends too?"
"Yeah. Ash is our boss. He's amazing. As long as you're with him, you can survive in this city."
Pride crept into Skip's voice.
"What kind of person is Ash?"
Eiji found himself asking.
"What kind of person... he's incredible. Smart, strong, protects all of us. But sometimes he gets this really lonely look on his face. He tries to carry everything by himself."
Skip's voice dropped a little.
"A lonely look..."
The boy's face rose in Eiji's mind.
I knew it.
Those eyes were the color of loneliness.
"Skip, do you know where Ash is now?"
"He went to the warehouse district a while ago. Alone. Even though it's dangerous."
"Warehouse district?"
"The warehouses along the Harlem River. He's looking for a guy named Shorter. Ash's best friend — he used to run Chinatown. Four days ago, men in black suits took him away."
Eiji's breath caught.
His best friend, taken.
That boy was searching for him alone.
"Um, where's the warehouse district?"
"Wait, you're going? You shouldn't. That's Corsica's turf. Way too dangerous."
"But Ash went alone, right? Isn't that dangerous?"
"Ash is strong, he'll be fine. But if you go, you'll just be dead weight."
Skip's words were harsh.
But Eiji didn't back down.
"Dead weight is fine. I can't just leave him alone."
Eiji's eyes were unwavering.
Skip stared at Eiji's face for a while.
"...You're a weird one. You're like Ash. Stubborn. Won't listen to anyone."
Skip gave a small laugh.
"The warehouse district is about a twenty-minute walk east from here. Along the Harlem River. But seriously, be careful. Normal people don't go near that place."
"Thanks, Skip."
Eiji thanked him.
"...If anything happens to Ash, I won't forgive you."
Skip said that and vanished into the alley.
Eiji gripped his camera.
—Ash.
—I'm coming.
Eiji slipped away from Ibe during the assignment and headed for the warehouse district.
"Sorry, just need the restroom—"
He said, and melted into the market crowd.
His heart was pounding.
—What am I doing?
—But I have to go.
Eiji ran.
Through the narrow alleys of Chinatown, eastward.
The air changed.
The bustle of the market faded, replaced by the smell of the river and rusted iron.
Fewer and fewer people.
The buildings grew older.
Then the warehouse district came into view.
The industrial stretch along the Harlem River.
Abandoned warehouses lined up, windows boarded shut. Glass shards and rusted nails littered the ground.
Eiji stopped.
—This is the warehouse district.
—Is Ash in there?
Eiji looked around.
No one.
Wind swept across the river.
Then.
"What are you doing here?"
A low voice.
Eiji's heart nearly stopped.
He turned.
Ash stood there.
Blond hair. Green eyes. Black leather jacket.
The same boy from yesterday.
But different from yesterday.
Those eyes were sharp and cold.
"A-Ash!"
"Why are you here. This isn't a place for someone like you."
Ash's voice was cold, pushing him away.
"I heard from Skip. That you went to the warehouse district alone. It's dangerous."
"Leave me alone. It's none of your business."
"It is my business. I'm worried about you."
Eiji looked straight at Ash.
Ash faltered, just for an instant.
Those innocent eyes.
The same direct gaze as the young man in the photograph.
"...Go home. It's dangerous here. Not a place for someone like you."
"It's dangerous, which is exactly why I can't let you go alo
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