Before Mr. Vulture can start cutting there is a knock at the upstairs door. He looks up at the basement ceiling like he can see right through the floor.

Turtle says, "If you have company, I can come back later."

Vulture man takes the blade away from his face and goes to the basement door. "Hang around," he tells turtle.

Hanging around doesn't sound so bad right now. Ratty might show up and save him. Or, it’s just a delivery guy. Either way, he's out of here.

The hook is attached to the ceiling with rusty-looking bolts. They might give if him bounce up and down. Also, a wall display full of sharp objects is close enough he might reach it with his feet. If he could get one of those weapons between his feet, he might be able to stab Vulture with it when he comes near.

Another option is to swing his body high and try to catch a hold of the nearby shelving with his feet and pull himself off the hook.

He swings himself toward the wall and manages to plant one foot on a shelf containing a collection of scalpels, knocking several to the floor in the process. They make a musical jingle on the concrete. Before he can attempt any upward pressure, his foot slips off and he swings back. Words are exchanged overhead. Then shouts. There is a scuffle. Something heavy lands on the floor, shaking dust loose from the ceiling.

Probably ratty. Probably ratty came here to rescue and got beaten up by Mr.Vulture.

But Turtle can't worry about that now. He swings himself at the wall again and again until he gets a foothold. He is now at an angle with one foot on a shelf and his body leaning. It takes every scrap of strength left, but he pushes off from the shelf, lifting himself high enough so that the ropes clear the hook and he crashes down on the cold stone floor. Just in time, too. The bolt snaps off in his fall, and the hook would have torn his body to pieces had he not landed on the right spot.

With a sinking heart, Turtle realizes that this is what happens in open-and-no-one-see cases. He shudders to think what would have happened had he not been here.

Footsteps sound on the stairs. Mr.Vulture is coming back and he's dragging something heavy along with him. Turtle can hear a weight thud-thudding on each step. With his wrists still bound in front, he struggles to his feet. His jacket is wadded up in the far corner. With any luck the slingshot pistol is still in the pocket. Alternatively, there are an assortment of weapons hanging on the shelf nearby. There's an Arabian sword that was certainly designed to kill people efficiently. There's also an industrial-sized meat tenderizer, caked with blood, hanging next to the sword which offers a slower, perhaps more deserving death for this psycho.

He selects an Arabian sword from the wall. It's curved and dangerous and sharp. Then he positions himself to the left of the door, ready when Vulture-man walks in. He'll never see it coming.

The basement door swings in. The Vulture fills the frame. He's dragging the limp body of the ratty by the collar and he's still got the knife in hand. The ratty is wearing a nasty gash on his forehead. It's hard to tell if he's dead or just knocked out. Ratty is barely breathing. Apparently, Vulture punched him in the face so hard his nose broke, and the impact from the fall caused him to lose consciousness. He lays there, limp and cold, like a discarded building skin, never to be reborn.

Before the Vulture can react to the empty hook, Turtle steps round the door frame and swings like a batter trying to knock one over the outfield fence. The blade passes through Mr.Vulture's neck with a wet thwack and a crunch as it separates the spinal column. His head, with a surprised look frozen on his face, pops into the air, hits the floor and rolls. A line of blood spurts out the ragged neck hole, spraying Turtle right in the face. The headless body topples. His eyes go wide and the blood pooling around his feet begins to rise. Before he's able to step into it, the blood swirls and settles, forming a thick liquid carpet.

"As I said," Turtle spits out the mess, "you're not the only one who can get it done."

The headless body hits the floor, the knife still gripped in the dead hands. Turtle turns his back on the carpeted floor and begins walking.

The ratty groans, sits up and shakes his head. His eyes come open and he looks first at the headless body, then at Turtle detective with a bloody sword in his hand.

The Vulture is dead. Even if he wasn't the one that brought down the lighting fixture, or the one that killed victim Steve or kidnapped the daughter of the theatre owner, he was a sadistic maniac. The world's a better place without him.