The following is the beginning of a short story I haven't decided if I want to finish or not. I wrote it the other night when I was bored. I don't plan on making it more than 5x the length of what I've already written and I wonder if that can even be done. Also, I don't really have a plan as to what's going to happen next 
I guess I'm just wondering if it is sounds interesting so far and if the writing style is any good.
Thanks.
“Your life is in danger Mr. Ryan,” said the hooded man in the beige rain slicker. “I am not sanctioned to say another word on the matter. Do not ask questions or follow me.”
John Ryan spun around, and as if resolved to take the man’s advice stood quite dumb, to watch the mysterious man disappear down the road amidst the sheets of falling rain. A look of bewilderment spread across his thin face, the edge of which mingled with his head of rain tussled black hair so that to the outside observer it might appear that those articles of curl and split end had reacted to the news in kind.
Flustered, violated, embarrassed, curious, fearful, angry – all adjectives describing Mr. Ryan’s current mental state – fought against each other to hold the forefront of his attention. In this attitude of contemplation he returned to walking across the bridge to his car, the briefcase in his hand swinging idly at the wrist, which took the form of a disinterested swivel. Arriving at the driver side door, he reached a wet and clammy hand into the right front pocket of his black work slacks. Finding the cold metal key he withdrew it from his pocket and held it in front of his face.
The rain beaded window beyond his hand reflected his blurred image, startling him into looking over his shoulder. The grey road over the bridge and the white row of buildings beyond, distorted by the falling rain, were all he could see. Nervous now, and sweating despite the cold and rain, John Ryan fumbled with the key and dropped it into a puddle beneath the door.
He reached to pick up the key, his knees feeling rather weak as they bent. A sickness came over him and he retched into the puddle just after picking up his key. Who could be plotting to kill him? He certainly had more enemies than most forty year old professional men. He made his fortune selling the dream, helping to swell the fortunes of businessmen, and as it is the regrettable circumstance of his line of work, ruining a fair few along the way. But murder? Who was the fellow in the slicker anyway?
Initial symptoms of shock wearing off now and his head clearing slightly, John Ryan had an urge to find that man and give him a good shake, with the belief that doing so might loosen a bit more information or force him to renounce his claims and prove him some sort of rogue or prankster. John Ryan was not the type of man to hold conversation outside of business, perhaps excepting to voice his assertions in return to the occasional remark about the weather. That day was an excellent candidate for the weather exception, but that infernal man spoke the deadly news instead and even used his last name.
Hadn’t the Watkins Company tanked soon after the management buyout last year? The Rothman Partners merger just last month was effected on the basis of a substantial overvaluation of Bergman Associate’s assets, and one senior partner sold his share and went AWOL shortly after an infamous board meeting involving said partner and a bowie knife. Point in effect, John Ryan had enemies, whether or not he knew who they were, and people didn’t talk to him in the street unless on a matter of business. Something was mortally wrong and as his head grew clearer, his unease grew more intense.
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ca'rouse (k-rouz)
intr.v.
To engage in boisterous, drunken merrymaking.
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