Depending on the state, felons can own black powder/muzzleloading firearms because they're, more or less, considered archaic enough to not be a threat.
So he could theoretically own a not-shitty black powder revolver.
who am I kidding that money is reserved for maker's mark and he would probably never learn how to load it
Ethan draws his LeMat revolver his great-great-granpappy carried in The War of Northern Aggression. The Plate Gang had returned. He herd Cleo hiss in the front yard.
"Not my cat you sons of bitches!", Ethan yelled as he threw open his front door.
As the door swung open Ethan pointed his old southern iron at a hispanic man wearing a Flash t-shirt. He was wearing light wash jeans and sandals and had a handlebar mustache. He was squatting down and petting Cleo on the head. It took a good half minute, but Ethan eventually recognized his old neighbor Roberto. He lowered the gun.
"¿Que pasa?"
"Oh, uh, sorry Roberto, I thought you were a burglar or something."
"Guarda esa pistola antes de que llegue un policía y te quite la cabeza."
"Uh yeah okay. So what are you doing in my front yard?"
"Me cansé de verla en el patio trasero, así que conseguí algunas golosinas para atraerla."
"Yeah me no habla espanol, sorry. Uh thanks for getting Cleo."
"No problema. ¿Cómo esta tu madre?"
"I already told you I don't speak Spanish, man. I'm gonna go back inside, I haven't slept in 50 hours."
"Haces eso. Por cierto, Ethan, si vuelves a apuntarme con un arma, te daré una corbata de Medellín."
"*dolphin laugh* You're so funny Roberto, okay I'm going back inside now!"
Ethan Ralph waddles back inside his rented trailer home. He sets down his unloaded LeMat revolver down on his coffee table. He sits down on his futon, and pours himself another glass of Maker's Mark. His thoughts drift to Plate Gang, and thinking of if or when they would strike next.