a fist full of dolers

Evening at the Chateau de Healy.
I am watching A Fist Full Of Dollars on the box with Serafina.
The first spaghetti western.
Fairly basic.
One great scene.
Clint Eastwood wanders into a small desert town.
A group of evil looking Mexicans sitting on a corral fence watch him balefully.
As Clint passes them, they laugh and jeer.
The Mexicans are John Fry current Chief Executive Officer of the Johnston Press, a former Chief Executive Officer of the Johnston Press whose name I can't remember, a former Managing Director of the Leinster Leader called Lord Quinn, and a baldy little bollix called John Whelan who was once editor of the Leinster Leader for about five minutes and whose name was on the firing letter to me.
Except for a single sidelong glance of contempt, Clint ignores the Mexicans and walks up the street to the funeral parlour where a wizened old man is working.
Clint says: "Get three coffins ready."
Then he walks back to the Mexicans.
They are still laughing and jeering.
As Clint stands in front of them, they fall momentarily silent.
"We've had a slight misunderstanding here," says Clint. "But if you apologise I don't think there's going to be any problem."
The Mexicans stare.
John Fry says: "You teenk we are going to apologise to you gringo?"
Clint says: "No. Not me. I understand. It's my hamster. She doesn't get the joke. If it was just me, there would be no problem. I understand all about your need to fire people, and steal pensions, and deliberately mislay travelling expenses, and tap into people's email, and bug phones. But my hamster doesn't understand these things as well as I do. So if you'll just apologise to my hamster, nicely and politely, I reckon I can let by gones be by gones, and be on my way. If you apologise to my hamster I think I can maybe just let you off with a warning."
Hammy peers expectantly out from Clint's sleeve.
John Fry says: "I ain't gonna apologise to no steenking hamster."
The Mexicans start to laugh once more.
Long and loud and hearty.
Clint says with sudden iron in his voice: "I really think you should apologise to the hamster."
The Johnston Press Mexicans fall silent.
Suddenly as one, they all go for their guns.
Clint does likewise.
There is a cacophony of shots.
When the dust clears the Mexicans are lying splayed, splattered and spreadeagled over the corral fence in various fascinating states of death.
Clint strolls back up the street.
He passes the funeral parlour owner who is standing open mouthed in the doorway of his shop.
"Sorry," says Clint. "Four coffins."