Fat Louie turned up one grey, wet afternoon in December.

We had warning of his arrival but still, when that knock on the door came, we weren’t prepared. Nothing could have prepared us. He’d travelled under an assumed name, but everyone knew who he was. The dazzling white smile as sly as it was smooth; large, languid coal coloured eyes that betrayed no emotion; a voice that purred in velvetine tones, and a beguiling charm that made friends of everyone. This was Fat Louie all right. No mistaking it.

He sauntered in, shaking the weather off his jet black coat and sat, without invitation, on the arm of the chair opposite. Fat Louie had found his place and listened quietly to our rambling introductions. He made no introduction himself. None needed.

We called out for pizza. We were making chilli but Fat Louie didn’t do chilli. He didn’t do pizza either. The finest Scottish smoked salmon for him with some chilled water. Nothing grand. Nothing pretentious. But that was Fat Louie. He just sat there, satisfied and silent as he watched and listened to our world go by. A spectator of events.

But it was a restless night. We heard Fat Louie, wandering about and talking to god knows who. When he wanted to talk, everyone knew about it. But he didn’t care. The urge to tell him to shut up gnawed at us both, but we didn’t dare disturb him. Nobody tells Fat Louie what to do. Or when. Fat Louie isn’t a law unto himself. Fat Louie is the law.

The next morning we talked about the night before. Fat Louie said nothing, just nodded, sat back in the chair and listened. Sometimes he slept, but you could never tell. For he always knew where you were. Always listening. And that was his day. Quiet, contemplative, watching.

Another night came and went. Fat Louie was up again, wandering the house. Talking again. A little quieter this time, but loud enough so that you knew he was there. You knew he was in charge. We knew he had to go.

And then, as if he read our thoughts, he was gone. A knock at the door and his car arrived. Not even a goodbye or thank you. He just up and left. Made his way to the car and left his driver to do the talking. Make the farewells.

Fat Louie. Maybe one day you’ll meet him. Maybe you won’t. If you do you’ll know it. No one forgets Fat Louie.