If I may openly borrow an idea from fellow writer and blogger Josin McQuein...
I put the page count of Nightmares into a random number generator, took the result (124), went to that page, and copied it to here.
"OK, one last time. You get me inside. You come back to the car. Make sure the car is facing south. Engine off, but key in ignition. No texting, no surfing. No sleeping. No nothing. Windows open. Got it."
"Sure. Why south?"
"I left him downtown. So he'll be coming that way. When he does, I want us to go the opposite way."
"Makes sense." He put the car in park. "You sure about this?"
"Nope. Let's go."
“You know, it’s night. Do you really need the shades?”
“Their presence on my face helps remind me to keep my eyes closed.”
He led me down the sidewalk, up the walk, and around the back.
“Something I’ve been thinking about...” Gordon said.
“Yeah?” I said, hoping for some sort of revelation.
“There’s that expression, ‘Rip your head clean off.’ Why ‘clean’ off? It would be anything but clean, with all that blood gushing and spinal cord flapping.”
“You think of the worst things at the worst time”
“Oh, excuse me for not realizing that you’re the only one who can have deep, important thoughts.”
"Uh-oh," he said.
"What? What's wrong?"
"There's police tape."
"And plywood on the door."
"Is it screwed on, or bolted on?"
“Flat or Phillips screws”
I fished in my bag and hit him in the chest with my cordless drill, the proper screwdriver bit already locked and loaded.
"Hey, neat. Good thinking."
"Thanks. Get to work."
He revved it a few times. "OK, I'm on it."
I hit him in the chest with a pair of gloves.
"What are these for? Splinters?"
"Oh yeah. Good thinking."
"Thanks." After a few minutes of drill sound, he announced, "Batter up!"
"OK. Go back to the car and wait."
"Yeah, but listen. If I hear or see anything, I’m going to lay on the horn. If you hear it, get out."