The Institute, Daddy Issues
Chapter One
“You want us to go where and do what?” I stared at my Captain in disbelief.
He gave a long suffering sigh and ran a hand through his thinning hair.
“It’s called “the Institute,” Sugarbaker. It’s supposed to be a resort for wealthy businessmen and their mistresses but we have reason to believe there’s more going on there—a lot more.”
“I know what it is—everybody in Vice has heard of it,” I said, crossing my arms. “I just don’t understand why you want Salt and me to go there.”
“This Institute is a place of perversion—yes?” Viktor Saltanov, my partner for the last three years, frowned down at me.
He was able to look down because, even though he was sitting in the chair we were sharing and I was sitting much higher on the arm of it, he was still considerably taller. It was a disparity I was used to. I’m pretty small—5’1 in my socks. My partner, on the other hand, is—putting it mildly—huge. Salt is 6’6 with a weightlifter’s physique. They didn’t call him the Russian bull around the department for nothing. Now he raised one eyebrow at me, his ice blue eyes filled with questions.
I snorted. “Perverted is putting it mildly if even half of what I’ve heard is true.”
“It may be,” Captain Douglas said. “But we’re pretty sure it’s where this new supply of Please is coming from.”
“Please?” Salt frowned again.
“You know…” I elbowed him in one muscular shoulder. “That new designer drug that’s suddenly all over the place—‘Please, Daddy.’ Please for short.”
‘Please Daddy’ also known as ‘Touch me, Daddy,’ in some circles was that rarest of drugs—an aphrodisiac that actually worked. It was supposed to give the user unquenchable sexual appetites. Unfortunately, it also had some nasty side effects—putting it bluntly, the user often felt they had to have sex or die after consuming it. And in some cases, they actually did die. Please had some weird side effects that weren’t completely understood yet—which didn’t stop anyone from taking it.
The inevitable begging for sex after taking the drug had helped name it. There were videos on the internet of girls who were absolutely shameless after having a single hit—one especially had gone viral. I hadn’t seen it myself but supposedly it was a blonde girl in her twenties begging to get fucked after taking a hit of Please.
“Daddy, please! Oh God, please, Daddy,” she kept saying over and over to the man in the video with her. From what I had heard, the man wasn’t really her father but the name has stuck. “Please Daddy” was the hottest new drug around—and the most deadly.
Knowing that Please was spreading all over the place was enough to make you sick—it made me sick, anyway. And as a detective first class, I would be more than happy to go shut down the supply from its source in any way I could.
Well…almost any way.
“Explain it again,” I said to Captain Douglas. “What do you want us to do at the Institute?”
He sighed again, looking harassed and I knew he must be thinking what a difficult bitch I was—not that I cared.
I have a reputation as a ball-breaker around the department. But that’s pretty much inevitable when you’re a female detective who’s determined not to let her lack of a penis stand in the way of professional advancement. I don’t back down from anyone and the Captain knows it. I really think that’s why he paired me with Salt to start with—to take me down a peg.
Born and bred in Mother Russia, Viktor Saltanov is pretty much as macho as they come. But not how we Westerners think of the concept—it’s more of an ingrained personality trait with Russian men. They are just simply more there—more male if you will. At least, that was how Salt seemed to me.
Right from the start, I thought my new partner was going to be trouble. He was always doing things like opening doors, pulling out chairs, helping me into my coat, giving me a hand in and out of cars…all those little things that Western men used to do but mostly don’t anymore. At least none of the ones I had ever gone out with did them.
“You want us to go where and do what?” I stared at my Captain in disbelief.
He gave a long suffering sigh and ran a hand through his thinning hair.
“It’s called “the Institute,” Sugarbaker. It’s supposed to be a resort for wealthy businessmen and their mistresses but we have reason to believe there’s more going on there—a lot more.”
“I know what it is—everybody in Vice has heard of it,” I said, crossing my arms. “I just don’t understand why you want Salt and me to go there.”
“This Institute is a place of perversion—yes?” Viktor Saltanov, my partner for the last three years, frowned down at me.
He was able to look down because, even though he was sitting in the chair we were sharing and I was sitting much higher on the arm of it, he was still considerably taller. It was a disparity I was used to. I’m pretty small—5’1 in my socks. My partner, on the other hand, is—putting it mildly—huge. Salt is 6’6 with a weightlifter’s physique. They didn’t call him the Russian bull around the department for nothing. Now he raised one eyebrow at me, his ice blue eyes filled with questions.
I snorted. “Perverted is putting it mildly if even half of what I’ve heard is true.”
“It may be,” Captain Douglas said. “But we’re pretty sure it’s where this new supply of Please is coming from.”
“Please?” Salt frowned again.
“You know…” I elbowed him in one muscular shoulder. “That new designer drug that’s suddenly all over the place—‘Please, Daddy.’ Please for short.”
‘Please Daddy’ also known as ‘Touch me, Daddy,’ in some circles was that rarest of drugs—an aphrodisiac that actually worked. It was supposed to give the user unquenchable sexual appetites. Unfortunately, it also had some nasty side effects—putting it bluntly, the user often felt they had to have sex or die after consuming it. And in some cases, they actually did die. Please had some weird side effects that weren’t completely understood yet—which didn’t stop anyone from taking it.
The inevitable begging for sex after taking the drug had helped name it. There were videos on the internet of girls who were absolutely shameless after having a single hit—one especially had gone viral. I hadn’t seen it myself but supposedly it was a blonde girl in her twenties begging to get fucked after taking a hit of Please.
“Daddy, please! Oh God, please, Daddy,” she kept saying over and over to the man in the video with her. From what I had heard, the man wasn’t really her father but the name has stuck. “Please Daddy” was the hottest new drug around—and the most deadly.
Knowing that Please was spreading all over the place was enough to make you sick—it made me sick, anyway. And as a detective first class, I would be more than happy to go shut down the supply from its source in any way I could.
Well…almost any way.
“Explain it again,” I said to Captain Douglas. “What do you want us to do at the Institute?”
He sighed again, looking harassed and I knew he must be thinking what a difficult bitch I was—not that I cared.
I have a reputation as a ball-breaker around the department. But that’s pretty much inevitable when you’re a female detective who’s determined not to let her lack of a penis stand in the way of professional advancement. I don’t back down from anyone and the Captain knows it. I really think that’s why he paired me with Salt to start with—to take me down a peg.
Born and bred in Mother Russia, Viktor Saltanov is pretty much as macho as they come. But not how we Westerners think of the concept—it’s more of an ingrained personality trait with Russian men. They are just simply more there—more male if you will. At least, that was how Salt seemed to me.
Right from the start, I thought my new partner was going to be trouble. He was always doing things like opening doors, pulling out chairs, helping me into my coat, giving me a hand in and out of cars…all those little things that Western men used to do but mostly don’t anymore. At least none of the ones I had ever gone out with did them.