"To establish a malicious prosecution claim under New York law, a plaintiff must prove (1) the initiation or continuation of a criminal proceeding against plaintiff; (2) termination of the proceeding in plaintiff's favor; (3) lack of probable cause for commencing the proceeding; and (4) actual malice as a motivation for defendant's actions." Manganiello v. City of New York (2d Cir. 2010) 612 F.3d 149, 161.

Chapter 1

Rosalie Carbone had a problem, a big one: her son, Nick. Smart and good-looking, he had a superficial charm that fooled most people. Not her. She'd known what he was from an early age. When she looked into his eyes, she saw nothing: no conscience, no remorse, no soul. This was not necessarily a bad thing. These were useful traits in someone who would someday take over the family business. But only up to a point. Now she was concerned Nick had crossed that line. A few months ago, she started noticing that he was disappearing for several days with no explanation, every couple of weeks. After the second occurrence, she assigned her top lieutenant, Carlo Morelli, to find out what Nick was up to. Morelli reported that Nick was snatching hookers off the street and taking them to family properties in Hell's Kitchen, mostly vacant warehouses or tenements. They all turned up dead a day or two later. This was not good. Rosalie didn't care about the women – they were expendable. But Nick's risky behavior could endanger everything she'd worked so hard to build. She had to make sure that didn't happen. She consulted Morelli, and together they came up with a plan.

Maleek Jackson walked out of Fogwell's Gym and turned right, walking at a brisk pace toward his Hell's Kitchen apartment. His sparring session had gone longer than planned, and he stayed on afterward to get in some extra work on the speed bag and the treadmill. Now he was looking forward to getting home before his five-year-old daughter, Malia, went to bed. And he had news – big news – for his wife, Melody. Sure, it was only an undercard, but it would be his first professional bout – and his first professional paycheck. Maybe, just maybe, he could quit one of his two day jobs. Lost in happy anticipation, he walked along the cracked sidewalk.

As he passed the mouth of an alley, a sound intruded on his reverie. It was coming from the alley and sounded like a moan. Uncertain of what he was hearing, but thinking it must be an animal – a rat, probably – he continued on his way. Then he heard it again. This time it sounded human. He turned around and went into the dark alley. A woman was on the ground, propped up against a dumpster. Blood was oozing from wounds to her neck, her chest, and . . . other places. Maleek knelt next to her. He pulled off his jacket and pressed it against the chest wound with one hand, while reaching for his phone with the other hand. Suddenly, he heard someone yelling.

"Freeze!" Maleek turned around and saw a shadowy figure. The person was pointing a flashlight at him, blinding him.

"She needs help!" Maleek exclaimed. He turned back to the bleeding woman and pulled his phone from his pocket. The impact of the bullet hitting his back propelled him forward, leaving him lying face down, across the woman's legs. As he lost consciousness, Maleek felt only confusion. Who would shoot him, and why?

Carlo Morelli watched the scene unfold from the driver's seat of his SUV, parked across the street from the mouth of the alley. Once the mark was down, the police officer who shot him put on a pair of gloves and pulled a handgun from an ankle holster. He wiped the gun throughly with a handkerchief and placed it in the mark's right hand, pressing his fingertips to the gun's surface. His partner waved in Morelli's direction, as if to say, "We got this." Morelli nodded to himself. The officer who did the shooting would be riding a desk for a while, but he would be well compensated for it. So far, so good, Morelli thought with a satisfied smile as he drove away. Now all they had to do was keep Nick in check until the mark was convicted – or dead.

KILLER STALKS HELL'S KITCHEN STREETWALKERS

Special Report to the Bulletin

By Karen Page

Unnoticed by the general public, several recent killings have prostitutes in Hell's Kitchen on edge. Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney of the 15th Precinct has confirmed to the Bulletin that detectives are actively investigating six homicides committed in the past four months. All of the victims worked as prostitutes, and their bodies were found in several different locations throughout Hell's Kitchen. Details of the crimes are not being made public at this time, Mahoney said, for "investigative reasons."

Police sources, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said there were striking similarities among the crimes. "It's almost like a signature," one source commented. They believe the murders are the work of a serial killer, dubbed the "Hell's Kitchen Hooker Killer," or "HK2."

A possible break in the case occurred last night, with the arrest of Hell's Kitchen resident Maleek Jackson, 28. A professional boxer, Jackson was found kneeling next to the body of a dying woman in an alley near 46th and 10th. An officer shot Jackson when he pulled a gun from his waistband. He is now in custody, in the jail ward at Metro-General. Police have not identified the victim, who was pronounced dead at the scene. Sources have confirmed she worked as a prostitute and was known on the streets as "Candy Apple." Women who worked the streets with her said she had not been seen for two days before she was found. Police are being tight-lipped about whether she is HK2's latest victim, and whether any evidence connects Jackson to the other killings. When asked about a possible connection, Mahoney would only say, "The investigation is ongoing." A spokeswoman for the District Attorney's office confirmed the case has been referred to them, and a charging decision will be made in the near future.

Karen Page is an investigator with the Hell's Kitchen-based law firm of Nelson & Murdock and an occasional contributor to the Bulletin.

Two Weeks Later

Matt Murdock tapped lightly on the door to Fogwell's Gym. He was looking forward to getting in a good workout this evening. It had been a long day in court, made worse by the antics of opposing counsel. He still couldn't believe the idiot had actually passed the bar. And the judge wasn't much better. Probably some politician's worthless brother-in-law. When the door opened, he held out a folded bill to the locker room attendant who had stayed late to admit him. "Thanks, Curtis," he said. He set his gym bag down on the bench next to the ring and started to wrap his hands and wrists.

Curtis took the bill but didn't leave immediately, as he usually did. He hesitated, standing next to the doorway. Matt sensed his uncertainty and turned to face him. "Something on your mind?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah . . . I guess," Curtis stammered, looking around as if seeking guidance.

"It'll be easier if you just spit it out," Matt said softly.

Curtis studied the floor for a moment, then looked up and said, "You remember Lenny Jackson, used to spar with your dad?"

Matt nodded. "Sure."

"His son, he's all grown up like you now – he's a boxer, trains here. And he's in trouble, real bad trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The legal kind."

"Tell me about it."

"Oh, God, they think he killed that hooker," Curtis replied, the words spilling out of him. "There's no way . . . I mean, I've known him since he was a little boy. He's got a wife, a little daughter . . . ." He caught his breath noisily. "His dad, he's sick worrying about him. Cops shot him when they arrested him. And Lenny doesn't think the Legal Aid lawyer they gave him is up to the job. Can you help him? Please?"

Matt frowned. "Maybe. He already has a lawyer, so I can't make any promises. But I remember him, from when we were kids. I'll talk to Lenny, maybe talk to his attorney, see how things stand. This is Maleek you're talking about, right?"

Curtis nodded. "Yeah. Maleek Jackson."