"Young Master Falcone, listen to our explanation. This is what happened..."
One of the mob bosses who seemed fairly familiar with Alberto stepped forward and said, "According to reports from my men, he saw a ghost on the third floor—right here."
"And it wasn't just him. Plenty of others on the third floor saw it too. If you don't believe me, ask Spencer and Lawrence. Their men were both at the scene."
Alberto frowned. The two bosses whose names had been called also said, "It's true. At first, I thought they'd gone crazy from drugs, but the first one to shout was Fisherman. He's the best-performing truck driver on the Route 12 docks. The reason he works so efficiently is because he doesn't do drugs and barely even drinks. If he weren't such a compulsive gambler, I'd almost think he was from out of town."
Another blond-haired mob boss stroked his chin and said, "More than thirty people took part in the event on the third floor. They couldn't all have been hallucinating, could they?"
"I think someone must be playing tricks. I've lived in Gotham for so many years, and I've never heard of any haunted place," said an older Black mob boss. Alberto turned his gaze toward him. The boss stood up and said:
"Now isn't the time to argue about who won, who lost, or who should pay compensation. Don't forget whose turf this hospital is. Besides the Godfather, that Doctor is even harder to deal with."
"Even if he doesn't work here anymore, he only just left, and we've already turned this place into a mess. What do you think he'll think?"
The other bosses exchanged looks. One of them cleared his throat, coughed, and said, "Let's clean this place up as soon as possible. If