Wolfe's Lucky Day

Wolfe looked down at at the half empty glass of scotch on the bar in front of him. 2223, it was as good as it was expensive. It was bottled before they started using the the synthetic shit that they use now days. He loved relics from before the shift, before Earth was covered in one giant slum and most of the human population lived off world. Wolfe picked up his glass and finished what remained. He had just enough time to order another glass when Pots took the stool next to him and ordered his usual pitcher of Alpha Park beer. It was brewed on some satellite orbiting Jupiter, Wolfe was never into beer but it was definitely Pots' poison. Pots downed the first glass and poured another.
"He's definitely here. He should be arriving soon."
"Finally" Wolfe replied, "this clean air is starting to give me a head ache."
Pots gave Wolfe a look of disbelief but knew the argument was pointless. He downed his second glass.
"Isn't this where you..." Pots' words were cut short by a gunshot. The bullet flew right past Wolfe's ear, through the bartender's head and shattered a bottle of whiskey on the wall behind the bar. Instantly both men dove across the counter and placed their backs against the bar. The bar exploded with gunfire. The front windows shattered and all but a few patrons fell dead.
"You're one lucky son of a bitch Wolfe!" Wolfe already had his twin vintage 1911's drawn.
"What?"Wolfe screamed.
"That bullet almost hollowed out your skull."
"What the fuck are you talking about Pots!?"
"That first shot nearly took your head off." Pots then raised up above the bar and sprayed out a few shots into their attackers.
"There's about eight." he yelled.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Wolfe yelled as he emptied a clip over the counter.
"No, you just saw them!"
"Not about that you douche about the lucky part!" Wolfe released the clip from his right gun.
Pots looked over the bar and sprayed a few more rounds.
"No, that bullet couldn't have been more than and inch from your head."
"I saw where the fucking bullet was Pots, how the hell does that make me lucky?" Wolfe reloaded his gun and they both took aim over the bar just in time to see another car pull out and drop off another half dozen men. They were in suits, they must have pissed off one of the companies. Pots and Wolfe each emptied their guns and took out almost half of them.
"How does it not? If you would have been just a little to the right, you would be dead right now." Pots said while slamming another magazine into his gun.
"Someone almost fucking killed me! They almost sprayed my brains on the back wall, and that makes me lucky? Are you out of your fucking skull!?!" Wolfe put a new clip in each of his guns.
"I think you're taking this to far, it was just a damn comment!"
They again took aim over they bar and emptied their guns leaving only two suits who were taking cover behind the cars. They reloaded their guns yet again, ready for the battle to end.
"I know it was just a comment, but it was ridiculous! You don't call someone lucky when their brains are almost spilled all over the bar. Here's an idea, you call me lucky when shit is not getting shot at me!" With that they both vaulted over the bar and ran towards the cars parked out side. Wolfe then dove over the hoods of the cars, spun over in the air and put a bullet in each of the remaining men's brains. He then put his guns away in their shoulder holsters under his jacket and pulled a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and lit it.
"We better get back to the Syryn before the cops show up." said Pots as he put his rifle away in his back sling.
"Yeah, they'll have us filling out paperwork all night." They then began to make their way to the hangar when Wolfe stopped and picked something up off the ground.
"What is it?"
"A quarter." Wolfe replied. "It must be my lucky day."