All across America, on isolated stretches of interstate, are motels exactly like the Stardust. Tall, poorly maintained, erratically blinking pink neon lights call out to passing drivers like drunken hitchhikers, urging them to put their heads down on the cheap, perma-stained linens within. The parking lots reveal a cross-section of class- luxury automobiles wait for the powerful to return from secret rendezvous next to the work vans that will transport half a dozen illegals to their next landscaping gig, and all makes and models in between.
Everyone needs a place to keep their secrets. This is what the owners of these eyesores really sell: not room, not board, but privacy.
As Charlie Barrett and Deputy Markos Connelly approach, the beacon proclaims this motel to be:
STARDUST.
Charlie and Markos arrive on scene first. Please describe how you travelled and roll Wits + Composure. I'll let you know when Konstantin and Jayant arrive.