Stephen Marlowe

“ Joe's face was set. He didn't look at me.
"Joe," I said. "Stop the truck."
"What's the matter now?"
"I want to check the potatoes," I said. "You know the lock bar isn't what it should be. Don't want to lose the load, do you?"
"I thought you said it wasn't a load of potatoes?"
"Highway hypnotism," I said. "I'll take your word for it. Hell, I loaded them, didn't I?"
"You loaded them," Joe said, slowing the truck. I didn't really know what I wanted to do. I'd look inside the van, sure. If it had been highway hypnotism, I'd know it now. Because the illusion wouldn't last. They never do. ”

“ Then the jelly-thing stopped quivering. I came close and touched it gingerly with one finger. It burned. I withdrew my hand.
"Harry?" Joe called.
Just then I heard the sound of glass breaking. A section of the jelly had blubbered over against the van's small front window, smashing it. I didn't think a soft jelly would have the strength.
"Harry!" Joe shouted. It was like a shout of animal fear. I heard the sound of more glass breaking. ”

“ It can be plenty trouble but it wasn't going to hurt me tonight if I imagined a return load of Long Island potatoes was a big glob of jelly.
I scratched my head. "Highway's got you, huh?" Joe said. He knew the symptoms. "Tell you what, Harry? Why don't you sleep it off? I feel pretty good. I can take her in."
I thanked Joe and climbed up on the slab bunk in the rear of the cab. The window was broken back there, all right. You couldn't argue about that. But it was too dark to see into the van, except that I could see the van window was likewise shattered. ”