You quickly hide behind the counter and tuck the dead guy's sneakers out of sight just in time to watch a customer walk in. You smile as nonchalantly as you can, holding your dog-headed hand behind your back.
The customer is a thin man with a soul patch and black hair, wearing a tight-fitting sharp suit. He's got an expensive car parked outside.
He stops, looking nonplussed as he sees you.
"Hey, what happened to the regular cashier? And is that blood on your shirt?"