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By the time Hatfield pushed his way into the bar McCoy was already hard at it, empty beer mugs and shot glasses arrayed in front of him like toy soldiers strategically placed. Hatfield went up to him, but at his touch McCoy turned with more of a smirk than a smile.

“Did you bring Nancy?” he slurred. “Where’s Nancy?”

“It’s no joke, Bud.” Hatfield slid onto his stool and signaled the barkeep for his first round. “This makes us look bad. What are we, a bunch of thugs? All that talk about fair elections and digging up the truth. You don’t do that with a hammer to the head. J...