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The Tenth Inning was on the east side of Ironwood’s Downtown Square, set in one of the area’s historic buildings that dated back to the state’s nineteenth-century mining boom. The walls, floor, and bar were aging hardwood, the ceiling covered with decorative tin tiles. On the more modern side, four TVs mounted near the ceiling played an array of sports channels—women’s basketball, downhill slalom skiing, a Formula One race, and a football highlights program.
A handful of patrons drank silently at a table, nursing their liquid lunches. The barstools stood empty while the bartender, a rangy guy with bulging eyes and a shock of dark hair, cleaned beer mugs while periodically cursing at the basketball game.
“Come on, you bitches! Throw the damn ball!”
Shea slid onto a stool at the bar,
