Opening...

I was desperate to open with a simple phrase, something like 'a storm was brewing...'
It's punchy, straight to the point, and carries a host of metaphoric implications that could have screamed everything I wanted to let you know without telling you a damn thing.
Truth is, the storm got here before I did.
A raging torrent of icy rain hammered relentlessly against the cold New York City sidewalk; a downpour of such magnitude that it could have been the tears of the Gods themselves. Judging from the suffocating mass of murky, black cloud shrouding the night sky in grubby darkness, it had no intention of letting up any time soon.
It could rain all night, and come tomorrow this town would still be as filthy as sin.
As for me...? I'm the guy stopping tomorrow from being as filthy as sin's mangy dog.
My trench-coat was taking on water like a sinking ship; I could feel the additional weight dragging me down as I stalked through the night. Of course, the cold silver revolver nestled carefully inside my inner breast pocket couldn't be discounted...