Lucas

[A factory foreman arrives early in the morning at 4:30 in the morning, a blank expression on his face.  His left hand is bandaged heavily, although this does not prevent him from personally checking on every beet shredder before the workers begin to file in.  Over the next few hours, he proceeds to make their already hellish jobs worse.]

Ｏｕｒ　ｇｌｏｒｉｏｕｓ　ｐａｒｔｙ　ｌｅａｄｅｒ　ｒｅｑｕｉｒｅｓ　ｔｈｅ　ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ　ｏｆ　ｐｒｏｄｕｃｔｉｏｎ　ｂｙ　２５％　ｂｅｆｏｒｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｅｎｄ　ｏｆ　ｔｈｅ　ｄａｙ．　Ｇｅｔ　ａｔ　ｉｔ．

[Lucas is everywhere that morning.  Deathly quiet and menacing, he approaches anyone who is slacking, a term that includes anyone who does not churn out canned beets at a rate of at least 2 cans a minute.  Missing an arm?  Have a beating.  Exhausted?  Beat for the sake of glorious beets.  Freshly wounded?  Alright, ten second break and drip some of that blood into the beets for more flavor.  Before an hour has passed, Lucas's stick is stained a dark crimson.]

[This was the the task entrusted to him.  And come hell or high water, he would do it.  The man hadn't specified what exactly 'something' was, but Lucas figured that being roasted to a crisp qualified.  It wasn't too hard to guess what had happened.  The Netherlands and America had invited Jane Smith into the pharmacy on some pretense.  They'd confronted her.  And some how or another, the pharmacy had burnt to the ground, all three of them killed.

He'd wiped away his tears and set to work, returning home and making 10, 20, 50, nearly 100 copies of both sides of the note by hand.  It had taken him nearly two hours.  Placing a note into each mailbox took even longer and by the time he'd gotten back to his house, he was exhausted.  But that was alright.  Being so tired . . . It meant he could hardly think about what had happened  And that meant he wouldn't just crumple up and cry.  There was no time for that.  Now . . . Now he had to complete the task that Mr. Netherlands had asked of him.  He would be strong.  He would believe that tomorrow morning, both of them would be back in their beds just like Margot had been. 

He ate dinner, thinking over what he was going to say in his head, then waited another half hour before picking up the phone.  He, of course, filtered it away from all the drones.  And when he speaks, his voice is quiet and calm, but almost completely toneless.]

This is Lucas, the boy who lives on 846 Goldberg. 
I have something important to say.  By now, everyone should know that the pharmacy burned down this morning with three people inside -- there were three bodies.  I'm here to tell you that it's almost certain they were Mr. Netherlands, Mr. America, and Miss Jane Smith. 

[pause]

Mr. Netherlands found something in Westport that he'd kept to himself the last few weeks.  I didn't see it until today.  But because of what the note said, I guess it seemed like a good idea to talk to Jane Smith and find out what she knew.  So he did.  In the case that something happened, I was asked to distribute this note to as many people as I could.  Please check your mailboxes.  It should be clear what I mean once you read it.

 . . . This is the reason they died.  Remember that.  I don't know how the building burned, but I'm certain of it.  This is why they died . . . 
If there are any questions you think I can answer, you are welcome call me back in about ten minutes.  Thank you.

[Click.  Lucas stares at the phone silently for a long time after he's hung up, his breaths short and ragged.  Finally, he lets himself go and allows the tears to come pouring down his face.]

EDIT:
There's a witness who saw Officer Grady do it.  Set it on fire, I mean.  . . .  Um.  That's it.

Are people really calling from outside the town?

Hello?